This Savage Land I
by Steward Bandolier
Summary: An epic saga of deceit, love, lust and tragedy. Alistair slays the Archdemon but mysteriously survives without the Witch's ritual. Solona, his lover, harbours a dark secret that holds the key to their salvation. First of 2 parts.
1. Chapter 1

1. Urthemiel Falls

The foreboding turrets of Fort Drakon loomed in the background as the heavily armoured soldiers, bloodied in battle, fought off the never-ending slew of Darkspawn emerging through the city gates. From where they stood, many on the ground claimed to have witnessed the Archdemon fall. It was the moment the horde just stopped in their tracks and retreated from the battlements, shrieking in fear, as if a switch had been turned off. Atop the Fort, a lone figure, sword in hand, was seen to draw his blade with much fervour, deep into the Demon's heart. They described how the creature took its final breath, shuddered violently, and crashed to the ground, dead. It was surely a sight to behold, and a tale that would be told for centuries to come.

Alistair Theirin, brother of King Cailan Theirin, second-born son of King Maric Theirin, great-grandson of King Brandel, Templar, Grey Warden and rightful heir to the throne, had slain the Archdemon. The Blight was won.

The Archdemon's lifeless body lay at his feet. He knew now what was to follow. _The Warden's Sacrifice. _Alistair sank to his knees, bowed his head, and waited. He was not afraid. He thought only of his love, Solona. He had saved her from certain death, albeit against her wishes, by taking her place as the slayer of Urthemiel, the corrupted God that had led the Darkspawn. _It was my duty. _Still, he waited for his inevitable, yet glorious passing. And waited some more.

'Alistair!' Solona's voice called to him. She ran up to the lone figure kneeling on the ground. The air was thick with fog. His face was warm and flushed in her hands as she held his head to her breast.

The red mist swirled and cleared a little. _I yet live,_ he thought, bewildered. 'How can this be?' Alistair trembled, his arms reaching for her.

'It doesn't matter now. It is over,' Solona wept with relief, as they embraced.

* * *

The people of Ferelden rejoiced at the ending of the Fifth Blight. But they also mourned the loss of many lives and the ravaging of their beloved lands. Times were not easy, and much of the land needed rebuilding. More pertinently, Ferelden needed a ruler. At first, it was decided at the Landsmeet that Queen Anora Mac Tir, wife of the late King Cailan Theirin, would rule the lands, along with a Prince Consort of her choosing. But it was not the outcome that many of the citizens, and nobles too, had favoured.

Eamon Guerrin had asked to meet with Alistair once the celebrations had died down. As Arl of Redcliffe, he held tremendous sway in the politics of Ferelden. Yet, even he had to concede to the wishes of the common folk. Stern but not unkindly, the old man had always treated Alistair as his own son.

"What the people of Ferelden need most right now is stability. They feel that you are the only one who can provide this. If you love your country, by the next moon you will marry Anora and reign together as King and Queen. She has agreed to this, I spoke to her myself. Please consider what I am saying, for I do not wish to beg."

"Have we not discussed this already? You, of all people, should know that this is not what I desire at all. But what I desire for myself seems to be of little importance to everyone," Alistair retorted, the irritation in his voice was clear. "Have I not given them enough? In slaying their Demon, I have only been asked for more!"

"I am merely asking you to take what is rightfully yours. Undeniably you are Maric's son, and all of Ferelden know this. They also revere you as their saviour and hero." The Arl was firm and unrelenting. "You will make an exemplary and well-respected King. Your people expect no less of you. Alistair, it is you duty." Eamon's voice had softened a little and he placed a comforting hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"Does my duty know no bounds? Then I have no choice, I will do as they wish. My birth was a curse, so be it." Alistair said, resigned to submission. "And Anora will never love me, not since her father died at our hands. And neither could I love her as a wife," He bowed his head.

"Eamon, there is only one thing that I ask of you," He paused, looking up. "Solona will remain with me, regardless."

The Arl nodded in understanding.

* * *

Solona was barely five years old when she was sent to live amongst the arcane practitioners at the Circle of Magi. She was too young then to understand why. The Circle was a strange place. There were many men and women, whom she did not know, and children too. For many months she was sick with longing for her mother and siblings, crying herself to sleep each night. But the magi were not unkind to her and she had thrived, and eventually the memories of her own family faded away. In time, she was no longer able to recall her own mother's face.

Now a young woman and skilled mage in her own right, Solona was the epitome of pure beauty. She was refreshingly unfussy about her appearance, yet exuded a grace and elegance like no other. She could warm the coldest of hearts with her serene, blue eyes. Her skin was radiant and smooth as a babe's, telling only of her young age. Her pink lips were luscious. When she spoke, she was gentle. She often wore her fair hair in a ponytail, and dressed only in simple robes. Rarely was she adorned with any jewellery, apart from a small silver locket around her neck, the only sentiment she had left of her mother. A tiny, delicate songbird was carved on the front. On the back of the locket, an inscription read,

'_She hid me, as the Moon may hide the night, from its own darkness, until all was bright.'_

Before joining the Wardens, she had known little of the outside world; only what she could gleam from texts and scrolls. As unworldly as she was, she had more than her fair share of admirers in the form of fellow apprentices as well as Templars at the Circle, who would watch her longingly from afar. But she had never taken a lover, until now. She had irrevocably fallen for Alistair Therein, the Templar and Grey Warden, whom she had willingly given her maidenhood to. Such a scandalous pairing between a mage and Templar would not be permissible at the Tower, but it did not matter to her for she was no longer bound to the Circle.

* * *

Alistair gazed lovingly at her as they lay unclothed in the damp grass, acres of empty fields surrounding them. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her body could only be described as that akin to a Goddess. She was slender, yet curved in all the right places. Her breasts were supple and shapely, her pink nipples so enticing to him. Wisps of soft blond hair blew about her delicate face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she lay on her back. Although they had lain together on many occasions during their adventures, he cherished every single moment he had spent alone with her. The sun was not overly bright, but the warmth from it was particularly gratifying to the two young lovers.

Solona had been in a pensive mood since the battle ended, he noted observantly. They had talked about his impending marriage to Queen Anora. Upsetting as it was to her, he could not help feel that there was more she was keeping from him. But she gave nothing away.

"You _will_ be by my side, always, won't you?" Alistair enquired, as he gently stroked her cheek.

"I wish for naught else, Alistair. You know this is true."

"I could not love anyone but you."

"Nor I," she replied. She touched his hand as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Please then, don't look so sad, my love. I cannot bear seeing you so." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin. He inhaled her lovely scent.

Solona forced a smile. "You are right. I have much to be thankful for. Least of all, we are still alive."

"Indeed, I have wondered much about that. Strange as it is, I cannot help but think that Riordan may have over-exaggerated the risks of killing the Archdemon," Alistair's brow furrowed. "It is almost an injustice that I still live."

Solona did not answer. Alistair thought for a moment, then added, "I don't suppose you had anything to do with it? By means of a warding spell or two..."

"As much as I wished, my magic is no match for Urthemiel's power," Solona sighed. "Tales become embellished over time, for has it not been centuries since an Archdemon was killed by a Grey Warden? Let us just accept that Riordan was mistaken."

She had begun to tire. "Let us speak of other things, my love, or best not speak at all," she said, quickly changing the subject, as she took his hand in hers and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Now I wouldn't mind a bit more of _that_," he said as he felt himself harden with desire. She rolled on top of him, as he slowly slid into her, their hips moving rhythmically together. She let out a soft moan, biting her lip, unable to contain her pleasure.


	2. Chapter 2

2. A Stranger in the Night

It was a whole moon after the battle. News of the royal marriage and coronation of the new King rapidly spread far and wide, throughout Ferelden and beyond. Nobles from the far-flung corners of Thedas had started to gather in Denerim to witness the momentous occasion. Congratulatory messages flooded the castle. The lovers had little time for each other, as Alistair was distracted with the necessary preparations, along with his soon-to-be wife, Anora.

The Queen was, without doubt, a very beautiful woman. She was tall and slender, and moved with such elegance and spoke with such charm that only nobles trained from a very young age could have learnt to master. She was well-loved by her people during King Cailan's reign, for she was wise, just and compassionate. Sadly, Cailan and she had no children, and rumours abound about her barrenness. She was older than Solona by a number of years, although her looks were youthful and did not betray her age. It was hoped that the Queen would bear the new King an heir soon, if she were not truly barren and still able to do so.

Solona dutifully partook in the palace celebrations, as was expected of her. She dressed effortlessly in a beautiful turquoise gown, delicate Carpaian lace adorning the hems. Alistair had it made just for her. Her mother's pendant hung about her neck. The gown complimented her figure well, she knew, and she had enjoyed the admiring glances from strangers and friends alike. But the day was long and she had now grown tired of the constant exchange of pleasantries and small talk with the nobles, and wished only for rest and solitude.

As she lounged in her chambers, she reflected on the situation at hand. She was uncertain about how she truly felt, having been unofficially relegated to the role of _mistress_ to the King. A position she did not enjoy being in, but had little say in the matter, for it pained her greatly to imagine herself apart from her beloved. She was not surprised that Anora was in agreement with this arrangement. For she knew that Anora did not love Alistair, nor did he love her. _A marriage of convenience,_ as Alistair had put it. And then there was the other, much larger issue that she had yet to deal with.

"Your heart seems heavy with worry, my dear friend. Pray talk to me," a friendly, lilting voice spoke, rousing her from her thoughts.

"Leliana! Please, don't sneak up on me like that again." Solona turned around, a smile breaking on her face as she recognized her old friend, the bard. They embraced warmly.

Solona poured her a glass of warm spiced wine. The bard was a very pretty creature, and feisty too. She had flaming red, shoulder-length hair, which suited her irascible temperament only too well. Her movements were almost feline in nature – stealthy and quick, yet graceful. She was dressed in a typical Orlesian gown, very elaborate and flaunting an attractive cleavage. A swan-shaped pendant adorned her neck, a favourite of hers which she wore often. Solona had never seen her without it.

Leliana revealed that she had returned to Orlais after the battle. Whilst there she had been regaling the Orlesians with tales and songs of their adventures during the Blight, as she travelled around the country.

"And I think I may have fallen in love," the bard said, coyly.

"Tell me about him," Solona asked, curious. "Or is it a her?" she pressed with a sly grin, much to the embarrassment of the bard. It was no secret that the red-head enjoyed the company of both men and women alike.

"His name is Geraint and like me, is a travelling minstrel," she smiled, then added, "He is very strong, and passionate, and generously endowed," she said as she fell over herself, giggling like a child.

"Your exploits would certainly put others to shame," Solona laughed. "We'll have a drink to your new-found love, if one can call it that." The two women clicked wine glasses and drank heartily. In a short while, the wine carafe was drained, turning the atmosphere a little more sombre.

"Tell me, Solona, for I am curious about something," Leliana said, putting her glass down. "If you don't mind me asking, of course," she continued, "I have always thought it strange that Morrigan should suddenly disappear the night before the final battle. I confess, I saw her leave your room in the foulest mood that evening. What did you and she talk about?"

Solona looked away. "Oh Leliana, I don't wish to discuss that right now. We simply had a disagreement; and Morrigan, being as she is, became most unhappy when things were not to go her way. I know not where she went." Solona was clearly unnerved. Leliana, although unsatisfied, wisely let the matter rest.

"Come then, my dear. We've got a wedding to attend. And you look absolutely ravishing," she said, taking Solona's arm as they made their way to the banquet hall. On the way down, Solona stumbled on a step, apologising, "The wine has clearly gone to my head," she smiled, and Leliana couldn't help but notice that the mage had looked pale and tired the whole time.

* * *

Formalities of the wedding and coronation had taken place in the throne room, and now the guests were assembled in the dining hall for a banquet. Solona admired the bride and groom from afar, looking resplendent in their ceremonial finery. Alistair was his handsome self, but he seemed a little different. _He is more confident and almost Kingly in his mannerisms, _she thought. Anora was, needless to say, more beautiful than she had ever seen her. She wore her hair down, making her look much less formal and more at ease. Solona watched as Alistair cast admiring glances at the Queen, feeling a small pang of jealousy, which she tried to fight. _Is it possible that he feels something for her? _She quickly banished the thought from her mind, knowing that such a thing could easily consume her.

Music played as the guests erupted in song and dance. A small dwarf, obviously drunk, clambered onto a table and danced a joyful jig, before tripping over and tumbling head-long onto the floor. Alistair and Anora clapped and laughed at the spectacle. _They look so happy, _she could not help noticing. He had his arm around her waist. _They will lie together for the first time tonight. _The thought had caused a sickness to rise in her stomach, and she decided to depart before she retched.

* * *

There was much merriment for the rest of the evening as the celebrations continued. Laughter and music rang from the palace halls, echoing for miles into the distance. The night was young and warm, although Solona felt a chill as she walked silently through the palace gardens, deep in thought. She strolled alone, having sent her maid-servant away for the night.

"Either you have grown tired of feasting, or are not a fan of the King. So which is it?"

Solona was startled by the stranger. She collected herself. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

He was tall and slender, and admittedly, quite handsome. His clothes were that of a nobleman, yet his face was rugged and battle-worn. He had long dark hair, tied neatly at the back. He had strikingly beautiful eyes, which were as dark as the night sky. His hands were calloused but strong. He wore a signet ring on his finger, with an imprint of a crest she did not recognize.

"No, but I've watched you pace the gardens. You are truly a sight to behold, my lady."

"Thank you, kindly. Tell me, what are you doing out here? You haven't been following me, I hope."

"I might ask the same of you. But no, I merely needed the fresh air." He added without hesitation, "I must confess the food, expensive as it was, has been less than palatable. Yet I do not think there is a better fool than Alistair Theirin to be on the throne."

"Your honesty is refreshing," Solona laughed, then added, "You _are_ a noble, are you not?"

"You deduced that from my attire. And yes, that is correct. But my lady, you are not of noble birth, and I do not mean that in an offensive manner."

"No offence taken, stranger."

"Yet, here you are, at court. You are someone special to the Queen, or perhaps the King. But I am a friend of Anora's, yet she has not mentioned you. Judging by your outstanding beauty and expensive dress, I might even suspect that you are the Kings' secret lover. Of course, I could be wrong." He paused, looked at her and frowned slightly, adding, "And there is something else, but I cannot put my finger on it."

Solona was taken aback, but remained composed. "Well, stranger, you have me intrigued. I know not your name, nor you mine, but let it thus remain so, my mysterious friend," she smiled beguilingly. "I would love to stay and talk, but it is late and my bed beckons. I must take my leave now. Perhaps we will meet again."

"Sooner rather than later, I do hope, my lady," he said as he took her hand and kissed it lightly, his eyes never straying from hers.

As she walked away, her heartbeat quickened and she felt faint, knowing that he was still watching her. Lying in bed that night, she thought only of the man with the beautiful dark eyes. He reminded her of someone, but she did not know whom.


	3. Chapter 3

3. At Weisshaupt and elsewhere

_The Penryns, known for its fertile and ore-rich lands, lay nestled between Nevarra and Orlais, just south of Anderfels and to the north of Ferelden, in the continent of Thedas. For many centuries, Penryn was a sovereign state, and Orlesians and Nevarrans fought bitter wars over its hills and valleys. The Grey Wardens of Anderfels finally took it upon themselves to keep the peace in the region. The Nevarrans allied themselves with Anderfels, and so were allowed to reside over the lands, but only in name. It was the Grey Wardens who held true reign over the Penryns. _

_For a while, the Wardens were successful in their endeavours, until a group of rebel fighters began to make a violent claim for independence. The Penryn rebels were strong and merciless. Skirmishes between the rebels and local troops occurred on a daily basis. The Wardens knew that the Orlesians were secretly supplying arms to the fighters. The latest incident, a rebel attack on the Nevarran city trade market, was unacceptable. _

"I'm afraid the pockets of unrest remain as such. We have stationed fifty Wardens down in the valleys, but unaided, they cannot keep the peace for long," Ranulf, the Senior Grey Warden Commander, sounded worried as he met with the First Warden at Weisshaupt Fortress, the Grey Warden stronghold in Anderfels.

"And the mines? Surely the rebels cannot hold them for much longer?" The First Warden was losing his patience.

The many Penryn mines, which bore metal ores of far superior quality than elsewhere, were extremely valuable to the Wardens who relied on them for the best weaponry and armor. The mines had been inaccessible for many moons now, after repeated rebel attacks, severely affecting the armories in the region.

"We can try to take back the mines, but we are unprepared for whatever they have planned next. The rebels are playing a dangerous game here, First Warden. Our men in Nevarra described the market attack as the most vicious they had ever seen, no doubt you would have already heard. Explosives, skilfully made. Likely Orlesian. Over a hundred bodies were counted, many women and children."

"The talks with Celene have been fruitless then," he said, seething, referring to the Empress of Orlais. "Right now, we have little leverage in dealing with Orlais. Nevarra is a weak ally and we cannot afford to lose more Wardens to this never-ending feud. I fear we are on the losing end."

"We cannot pull out now. Orlais will only serve to gain much, especially if they were to control the ore. Their hold on Thedas is too strong as it is. Were we to let them continue, we will eventually fall to Orlais as well," Ranulf interjected.

"There is of course, Ferelden," The First Warden said. "They are looking to us for help in rebuilding their Order. Gaining their alliance will serve to strengthen us, both in troops and in influence. We must speak with them directly. Use threat, if necessary. You are to see to this."

"A wise decision. I will speak with King Theirin myself, for he is a fellow Warden. One of Duncan's, in fact. I will send a messenger ahead," Ranulf bowed as he left.

* * *

Alistair caressed her soft skin, admiring every inch of her body as he ran his fingers down her neck, gently moving down to her breasts, then slowly to her stomach and finally her thighs. He was completely and utterly enraptured by her.

"Maker, you are beautiful," he whispered. He lay on his side, propping his head up with his arm.

Anora smiled. His heart lurched a little. "You are a good lover, obviously. And I confess, I have enjoyed every minute of our lovemaking," she added, after a short pause, "But you have not talked about Solona in all these weeks. I have seen her around the castle, and she is clearly not herself. I feel there is much that is bothering her, more so than the nature of our...arrangement."

Her tone turned serious. "I am of course, in no position to have a heart-to-heart talk with the girl. But I wish to know what the matter is, for such ill feelings cannot go on. Tell me what you know."

"Honestly, I am not sure myself," Alistair said truthfully.

He had lain with Solona the previous night, in her bed. She seemed despondent again, but like all the times before, would not say why. If she were truly depressed, it had certainly not shown in her appetite. He noticed that she had gained a little weight, which suited her perfectly and, if anything, her breasts were fuller and more enticing, Alistair thought. Having mentioned this to her, however, caused her much alarm, and subsequently relinquished any further romantic notions they had that night. _Women are so confusing, _he thought, resignedly.

Later that day, he found Solona waiting patiently for him in his study.

"I wish to speak with you for a moment," she said, sounding serious. _This cannot be good,_ Alistair knew.

"Whatever it is I have done, Solona, please forgive me. I want to make you happy again, but I know not what ails you." He sat across from her and took her hands tightly in his.

She sighed. "You cannot help what has been done," she said, cryptically.

"I don't understand."

"Alistair, please hear me out. I know that you have been looking for a new Warden-Commander, but have yet to find one even remotely suitable. I wish to offer my services to you. You know, as well as I do, that I am more than capable of helping rebuild the Order. I want, no, _need_, this. Please."

Alistair was quiet for a moment. His heart ached to hear her plead so desperately. "Solona, you promised to remain by my side when I became King. What has caused this change of heart? Is it because of Anora? I do not love her, only you."

"No, Anora has nothing to do with it." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Only, perhaps...a little. But this is not the issue. She is your Queen and you must do what is expected of you." She wiped away a tear.

She continued, "I need to be away for short while. Being Commander will give me the focus I haven't had since moving here to be with you. Besides, I do not wish to see Ferelden fall to more Darkspawn so soon. I have heard of the attacks on the Amanranthine coast."

_Oh Solona. _Alistair struggled to hold back his own tears. "If that is truly what you want, and if it makes you happy, so Maker help me, I will do as you wish. I will speak with Ser Caled first thing in the morning. Will you promise to return once all this foolishness is over?"

"I promise. Thank you, Alistair," she said as she kissed him. They held each other for a long while.

* * *

As soon as the horses were saddled and readied, Solona rode swiftly out of Denerim with Ser Caled and four young guards in formation. Caled was an experienced swordsman from Redcliffe, having fought alongside the party at Fort Drakon and shown great bravery. He had sworn to protect Solona with his life. He felt honoured to be by the side of a Grey Warden and notable war mage such as she, as they journeyed northward to the coastlands, stopping only for the night and to change horses at a small fishing village.

Solona had never felt better as the fresh air caressed her face. She rode easily and as skilfully as any trained horseman. She was saddened to leave Alistair behind in Denerim, but consoled herself with the notion that she was only doing what she thought was best. She planned to set up camp at Vigil's Keep, a fort once owned by Arl Rendon Howe, now a base for the King's troops. From there, she would seek out new recruits from Amaranthine and Highever. Whilst there, she would also deal with the Darkspawn stragglers reportedly still wandering the coast, causing much panic and alarm. There was much to do, she knew. But most importantly, before the first snowfall, she must return to the Circle Tower on Lake Calenhad for a personal mission.

They arrived at the Keep late in the evening, after a full days' ride, and Solona was exhausted. Seneschal Varel, the Keep guardian, welcomed the party warmly. He had been close to the Howe family, having been there for many years. After Rendon's death, he remained at the Keep, as he had nowhere else to go.

"Commander, may I call upon a healer to tend to you?" He was concerned that she looked unwell and had stumbled as she dismounted from her horse.

"Thank you, Varel, but I am just tired, that is all. Nothing a hot bath and a warm bed wouldn't put right," she said.

"As you wish. Rest now, for we have much to do in the morn."

The Keep was old and large parts of it had been destroyed during the Blight, which would require expensive repairs. Inside, the halls were cold and dark, and largely empty. Ornamental shields adorned the stone walls, with a crest that looked vaguely familiar, but she could not place it and thought nothing more of it.

Solona found her chamber, which was comfortable and warm. She undressed and fell soundly asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

The dark figure emerged silently from the shadows and moved swiftly towards her bed, dagger in hand.


	4. Chapter 4

4. In Love and War

Leliana fidgeted nervously about her room at the tavern in Dunferin, a small Orlesian town in the Borderlands. It had been days since Geraint was due to come back from the neighbouring Penryn Valley. _I should have gone with him._ It was a risky task, but he was adamant that it had to be done. _And it was for a good cause, _so she was told. _The troubles had gone on long enough._ _Pray let the end be near._

She jumped as the door swung open. Geraint stumbled in and instantly collapsed on the bed.

"My dear, you are hurt!" she rushed to his side, cradling his head.

"It is done," he replied, weakly.

"Thank the Maker!" Leliana was relieved. "Did he...suffer?" she asked, worried.

"As I had promised, he did not. He did put up a good fight, nonetheless," Geraint lifted his leather breastplate to reveal a rather large gash in his side.

Leliana gasped.

"A flesh wound, not to worry," he said, whilst seeming not to notice the pain. "With the general out of the way, the boys can easily take on the rest of the troops at the hill station."

"And what of the Wardens? At least two guard every post," she implored.

"They seem to be retreating, even giving up." His face brightened, then added, "Leliana, success is so close, I can feel it."

Leliana carefully dressed his wounds. She admired his strong physique, and quietly enjoyed the feel of his lean, well-honed body as she soothed his aching muscles. He was ruggedly handsome, and so very brave. He was a rogue, like her, but had mastered the arts of a deadly assassin. _How could she not fall in love with such a man? _

She thought about how she had been so sick with worry each time he had travelled across the border, on a mission in aid of the Penryn rebellion. _The_ _fight for freedom_, as he had called it, was all that had kept him going. She had joined him herself, on a few occasions. The tasks were dangerous yet thrilling, often involving the removal of one or two high-ranking Nevarrans.

He had reason to fight. She knew well how the troubles had blighted his whole life. Geraint was born to a family of desolate miners in the Penryn Valley. At twelve years of age, he witnessed the death of his father at the hands of the Nevarran soldiers as they came to seize their home and land. Worse yet, he could still hear the screams of his mother as they brutally ravaged her. He had escaped and sought refuge in Orlais, eking out a living as a minstrel and stealing from tavern patrons.

Geraint was recruited into the rebellion at the tender age of sixteen, his skills proving very useful and his connections in Orlais most valuable to them. The meetings with rebels were always shrouded in secrecy, held in small taverns in the Borderlands. Leliana knew of two other rebels based in Dunferin - Audoin, a quiet and serious man knowledgeable in the arts of poisons and explosives; and Liam, a young and idealistic fighter and master strategist. The men often referred to each other and their fellow Penryn compatriots as _brothers._

Geraint lay unclothed on the bed as Leliana gently sponged the blood from his face and torso. She saw that he had become aroused. He grabbed her by the waist and drew her playfully towards him.

"It's been awhile, my love," he grinned.

"A week isn't that long. And your wounds need to heal..." Leliana toyed with him.

"Sshh...," He put his finger on her lips to quieten her as his hand wandered down between her thighs. He found his way into her undergarments and proceeded to caress her lovingly. Without saying a word, he then lifted her blouse and softly kissed her nipples.

"Geraint, no...," she whispered half-heartedly. He ignored her weak protestations and worked his mouth on her supple breasts._ It feels too good, _she thought_. _

Leliana relented and kissed him back, pressing her body close to his. He tore her clothes off and threw her onto the bed. With an urgency she had never seen before, he forced her legs open and thrust himself into her. Leliana gasped and clawed at his back. He took to her forcefully until he was completely spent and she had cried out. She had thoroughly enjoyed it, although she was sore and bruised afterwards.

* * *

Leliana and Geraint held hands as they strolled towards The Jerusalem, a nondescript tavern nearby. It used to be an old millhouse, now frequented by drunks and the lonely travellers. They looked like any other young couple, only much deadlier. Inside, the tavern was dark and the air stale. A few drunks lay slumped in their chairs. A small group of travellers sat quietly around a table, nursing half empty glasses of ale. An elderly minstrel strung his harp in the corner. A bar wench sashayed up to them.

"So, what will't be then?"

"A pitcher of your strongest ale for me and port for the lady," Geraint answered as they sat down in a corner.

The beverages arrived promptly. As they sipped their tipples, Audoin walked in, crossed the room and sat at their table. Geraint greeted him with a nod.

"The boys killed them all," Audoin said as he motioned to the wench for a drink. "The station is ours, much thanks to you."

"I'm glad to hear. How are they holding up in the mines?" Geraint probed.

"Not too well, but I have seen to that. The explosives have collapsed all the entrances. Even if we were to lose our foothold, it will be a long while before any of them become accessible again."

"A job well done, brother. And the marketplace?" Geraint had clearly not heard of the bloody outcome.

Audoin paused, choosing his words carefully. "We showed them that we are no small force...,"

"And what exactly does that mean?" Leliana interjected. "Are you saying..." her voice trembled.

"A hundred deaths, and still counting," Audoin replied, emotionless.

A look of horror crossed her face. "We agreed that we would never hurt innocents. Have you lost your mind?" She started shaking.

"We did what we had to do," Audoin raised his voice. "Sacrifices had to be made, woman. We had no choice. They raised the stakes, we merely retaliated," he spat.

"Sacrifices? It was a massacre! All those helpless lives, lost," she cried.

"You are a fool! You do not understand now, but in time you will see the light." His fists pounded the table, his face reddened. A few heads turned, curious at the disturbance.

Geraint, sensing the unwanted attention, stood up quickly to leave. "Leliana, come. Brother, you must excuse us. I will send word to Liam. Till then." He lifted his pitcher.

"For our brothers," he said as he drained it.

"For our brothers," Audoin echoed.

* * *

Anora had an odd feeling that she was being watched as she sat at her writing desk. She turned around quickly, only to catch Alistair bending over her shoulder, hands behind his back.

"Your penmanship is captivating," he grinned.

Anora laughed. "I can't help but feel that you're speaking metaphorically," she said, casting him a sly look.

"Alright, I confess, I was looking elsewhere." He put a finger on her breast. "Right here, to be precise."

"Well, I am glad you enjoyed the view," she said, laughing as she slapped his hand away.

Alistair truly surprised her. He was so much like Cailan, yet so different too. He was charming, in a naive sort of way. When they made love, he was so gentle. And he made her happy, somehow. As much as she hated to admit it, she found herself enjoying their moments together. _Am I falling for him?_ She was afraid it might be true.

_She's so beautiful when she laughs, _he thought. Alistair took her hand and kissed her fingers. He paused for a moment, uncertain why he had just done that. He was acutely aware of how his pulse quickened when he was around her, and how he had enjoyed her smell and the feel of her skin when she was close to him. He had much admiration also for her wit and charm also, and found himself listening with great pleasure whenever she spoke. _I am in love with her,_ he realized. He turned around and walked hurriedly away, without saying a word.

That night, they made love with such passion that Anora, overwhelmed by her own unwelcomed feelings for him, wept silently afterwards.

* * *

"I want no part in this blood feud," Leliana said, through her tears. "The end cannot possibly justify its means."

"Leliana, I understand why you are upset. It pains me too that others must suffer for our cause," Geraint said as he sat on the edge of their bed, his head in his hands.

"Then let us end this now. No more wars with our brethren," she pleaded.

"Do you not see? It is almost over!" Geraint raised his voice. "As Audoin said, the Wardens are retreating and Nevarra will soon return our lands to us. We cannot give up now."

"Then I will."

"Just one more push, and we will finally be free. I promise. We are _so_ close."

"No, Geraint. You _are_ free, but chose not to be. I love you, but I cannot live like this." Her words tore through his heart like a blade. Leliana had packed her possessions, and made ready to leave the inn.

"And _I _love you, more than you can imagine. Please don't go. Stay with me." It was his turn to plead. He stood up and took her by her arm, holding on tightly. "Don't," he growled, breathing heavily.

"Please, Geraint." She shook him off. She undid the pendant that hung around her neck and placed it in his hand. "Keep this to remember me by. And know that I will always think of you."

She did not look back as she walked out the door. Geraint, enraged, threw a chair at the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

5. Choices

The man stood over the mage as she slept peacefully in her bed. He raised his dagger, ready to strike at the pulsating vessel in her neck. Solona, still asleep, turned over. He saw her face and faltered, lowering his blade. _It was her. How had he not known? _It was dark when the party arrived, and he could not tell at the time. Quite clearly, this was most unexpected.

He hesitated for a moment, then turned and swiftly exited the chambers, cursing under his breath.

Solona awoke to a commotion outside her window. Dawn was breaking, and she could hear the guards shouting in the courtyard. Next, came the sound of blades clashing, then a struggle, followed by loud cursing. She got dressed and hurried outside.

"Fools! Don't you know who I am?" The man was livid. Four guards held him down as he struggled to free himself. A fifth guard lay injured nearby, a bloodied dagger next to him.

Solona stood in stunned silence, a flicker of recognition spreading across her face. Those beautiful dark eyes were unmistakeable. He looked up and saw her, but said nothing.

"Nathaniel! What in the Makers' name?" Seneschal Varel had hurried to the scene.

"Varel! So this is how you welcome me? Like a common criminal!" The man shouted at the Seneschal.

"You know this man?" Solona had collected herself and demanded answers. She turned to Varel.

"Commander, this man is Nathaniel Howe." Varel sighed, then added, "Rendon's son."

Solona felt sick. Arl Rendon Howe had betrayed the Teyrn of Highever, and ultimately King Cailan Theirin during the Blight. It was no secret that he had died at the hands of the Grey Wardens in Denerim, during a brutal fight. She didn't know that he had a son.

"We caught him sneaking around the keep, Commander," one of the guards explained. "He was bearing arms."

"He is not armed now. Stand down," she ordered.

Nathaniel brushed himself off as he arose, casting dirty looks at the guards.

"I am Solona, Commander of the Grey. Explain yourself, Nathaniel. Please bear in mind that this is no longer your Keep," she said, then added, "And that you are surrounded by fifty armed guards."

"A pleasure to meet you too, Commander." He continued, "I do not need excuses for wanting to see for myself the atrocities that have befallen my family home."

Solona did not answer, but turned to Varel. "I will speak with him in private. Take him to the study."

Varel started to protest, but stopped himself. "Very well. The guards will remain by the door."

Her back was turned as he entered the room. The study was small, but airy. Beautiful tapestries once hung from the stone walls, now bare and cold. A large ornate writing desk and a bookshelf remained.

"I spent much time in this room as a child, admiring my father's maps and watching him strategize over wars. But I see that nothing of his still remains here," Nathaniel said, his voice sad.

Solona turned to face him. "I do not wish to play your games. You have not come for sentiment. Why are you here, truly?" she asked.

He was quiet, then answered, "I was on a mission, a personal one. One that I had harboured since my father's death. I wanted only to avenge him. Then I heard that the Warden-Commander had arrived at the keep." He hung his head.

Solona said nothing. His intentions were clear.

"But when the time came, I could not bring myself to finish what I had set out to do." He looked at her. "I did not expect that it would be you."

Solona swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I appreciate your honesty, Nathaniel. Clearly you still grieve for your father. I bear much regret and sorrow for my part in his death. Neither I, nor my companions, had intended for it to turn out the way it did."

Nathaniel buried his face in his hands. A silent teardrop fell onto his lap.

She continued, "Your father was a brave warrior, but he was sadly misled. I hope that in time, you will come to understand. I am truly sorry." She placed her hand on his.

"Your words are kind and your heart true. I curse my luck that we should meet again under these circumstances," he said as he started to smile a little. "For I have thought much of you since the night at the palace."

His face softened and as he leaned towards her, their bodies touching. Her pulse quickened, just like the first time they had met.

She pulled her hand away. "Nathaniel, I do not wish for anything other than your alliance in these troubled times."

"So I am not to be punished? And what will you have me do?"

"Your family owned these lands for centuries. They now need protecting. I lack the troops and resources to do so. You are clearly a skilled fighter, and are familiar with the region. I will be glad to have you join us at the Keep."

He was surprised, but did not answer.

She continued. "And I could do with some help in rebuilding it. We will make Vigil's Keep strong again. Will you accept my offer?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"You have been unjustly treated in light of your father's actions, through no fault of your own. These lands were once rightfully yours, now no longer. I accept that you may still harbour resentment towards me for what I did, but I know that you do not wish me any harm." She then added, "And I trust you."

"You are as compassionate as you are beautiful," he smiled warmly. "It will be my honour to aid you."

* * *

"Your Majesty and my Queen, I take it you have discussed the matter with your council?" Senior Grey Warden Ranulf implored, as he kneeled before the Alistair and Anora. He had arrived in Denerim at sundown the previous day, and had spent his morning sizing up the King's army.

"Indeed, I received your letter no less than a fortnight ago." Alistair paused, then spoke carefully, "I have my reservations, Ranulf."

The Senior Warden stood up. "And what might they be?"

"Our relationship with Orlais has never been better, more so now that trade has resumed again. I do not wish to tarnish it."

"I can see that you are concerned. But the implications of such inaction will be dire for us all. You _do_ understand, don't you?" Ranulf said, almost patronizingly.

"Dire implications for _Anderfels_, you mean." Alistair challenged. "Our peace treaty with Orlais still stands, in case you have forgotten."

"Your father served Thedas well by driving the Orlesians back to their own country. Do you wish to undo this? For you certainly will if we allow the Penryns to fall. By controlling the ore, the Orlesians will have the rest of us eating out of their hands."

Ranulf added, "Besides, we are not in direct war with the Orlesians, only with the Penryn rebels feeding off them. Empress Celene will not dare confess to her role in the killings. An all-out war with Orlais is strictly out of the question."

Anora, who had been silent, intervened, "Even so, we do not have the troops to support you. Much was lost recently, as is obvious. Darkspawn remain in the region and bandits roam the barren lands. We need our men here to protect our people."

Ranulf had anticipated that this would come up. "I am well aware of your difficulties, my Queen. That is why the First Warden is prepared to offer you the services of one hundred Grey recruits, to help rid your land of the Darkspawn and rebuild your Order. _After_ the rebellion has been taken care of, of course."

"We will need more Wardens than that," Anora bargained. "At least two hundred and fifty men. Yet, that alone is only a fraction of what we lost at Ostagar."

Ranulf let out a sigh. "Very well, you have my word. Do I have yours?"

Alistair and Anora nodded in agreement.

"Good. Let us drink to that. We will talk to the troops tomorrow."

The three of them enjoyed a small feast in the dining hall, in celebration of the new alliance between Ferelden, Anderfels and Nevarra.

That night, Alistair could not rest. Turning to Anora, he asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

"My darling, I do not know," she sighed.

She then added, "But we will see to it that our people remain safe, first and foremost. We have just enough men to keep the peace in the outposts. The rest should remain here and at the Keep. And thanks to Solona, we have trained more than ever in the last few moons."

He took her hand and placed it over his heart. "You are right, and so very wise. I am grateful to have you by my side." They kissed tenderly.

"Alistair, I have something else to tell you," she said softly.

"Good or bad?"

"It can only be good," she smiled as she took his hand and placed it over her stomach.


	6. Chapter 6

6. A Warden's Secret

Seneschal Varel felt uneasy. Nathaniel Howe had been away for many years, but had now returned to the Keep under the most unusual circumstances. It was not that he did not trust him, or thought the Commanders' decision unwise, but there was _something_ going on between the two of them. He had seen the way Nathaniel looked at her. Granted, she was a very beautiful young lady, but it was clearly more than just a passing fancy that he took in her. And likewise, she would only reluctantly spurn any advances on his part. Somehow, this did not bode well with him, for he knew of her relationship with King Theirin. And there were suspicions about another matter regarding the girl, but the Seneschal was a tactful man and kept his concerns to himself.

In the weeks that followed, the reconstruction of the Keep had kept Nathaniel busy. Solona spent her time overseeing the new recruits and other endless tasks pertaining to her role as Warden-Commander.

They had planned to leave for the outskirts of Amaranthine as soon as possible, amidst reports of Darkspawn sightings and attacks. That evening, Nathaniel found her alone in the study, reading a letter, as she routinely did before retiring for the night. She seemed downcast, as was fairly often the case.

"A letter from Alistair?" he enquired intuitively.

"Yes, he writes often."

She looked away, then added, "Anora is with child."

"This upsets you?" He stood behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It's just that I did not expect it to be so soon."

She turned around and forced a smile. He touched her face, but instantly regretted it as she pulled away.

"I'm tired, and we must leave early tomorrow." She bid him goodnight, got up and walked away.

* * *

Nathaniel rode ahead on his horse, with Solona and Ser Caled following behind. He proved to be an excellent scout and marksman, having honed his skills fighting in the Free Marches. Solona was glad to ride with him. Small groups of darkspawn were reportedly attacking the rural settlements that dotted the region, and she was determined to bring a halt to it. The outskirts of Amaranthine looked bleak as they encountered only abandoned farms and vast scrubland.

They soon located some Darkspawn tracks and followed it into the scrubs. As they emerged into a clearing, Nathaniel stopped and motioned silently at her from ahead, pointing eastwards.

_Darkspawn Genlocks! _Only two of them,as far as she could see_._ _This should be easy, _she thought.

"Prepare to attack," Solona instructed. "Caled, you and Nathaniel flank them. I'll bring in from the rear."

Solona reared her horse and rode eastwards whilst the two men galloped ahead. The Genlocks saw the men approach and promptly fled.

"Quick, Caled, don't let them get away," Nathaniel said as he kicked his heels in, riding faster.

_Something is not right,_ Solona thought. _They were Runners, s_he realized_. _ "Nathaniel, Caled wait!" she shouted, as she chased after them.

It was too late. The Runners had led the men straight into a Darkspawn encampment.

_A trap!_ Nathaniel realized, panic setting in. The smell of rotting flesh filled the surrounding air. Animal carcasses, half eaten and covered in flies, littered the ground. An arrow whizzed past his head and struck Ser Caled in the shoulder. The swordsman groaned. Nathaniel ducked as arrows rained down on them.

At least three Genlock archers surrounded them from each side, on a low embankment. The two men dismounted quickly and dived into dense undergrowth, keeping their heads down.

Nathaniel turned to Caled and said under his breath, "We stand our ground." The swordsman nodded as he unsheathed his blade.

They heard a loud roar as two large Hurlocks came charging at them. They were massive beasts, at least eight feet tall, and five hundred pounds of muscle and bone. Their blood-shot eyes glistened with rage from their hollow sockets. Nathaniel readied his bow and took aim. The first creature was struck in the chest. It let out a loud howl, but continued to charge, wielding a heavy warhammer. He aimed at the second Hurlock, maiming it in the leg.

Ser Caled deftly parried the blow from the charging Hurlocks's weapon, but the next strike forced him to the ground, unconscious, blood seeping from beneath his helm. Nathaniel, seeing that Caled was incapacitated, drove his dagger deep into the creature's back. Dark, oily blood spewed forth from its mouth as it collapsed to the ground.

Nathaniel turned as the second Hurlock swung its axe towards his head. Before he could react, a bright surge of electrical energy blasted forth from behind him, striking the foul beast. The Hurlock was stunned, but recovered quickly and took aim at the mage.

"Solona! Keep away!" Nathaniel shouted at her, alarmed.

The Hurlock struck her with the hilt of its axe, pinning her to the ground. She retaliated with further bolts of energy as the beast struck her again. Nathaniel leapt onto the creature's back, plunging his dagger frenziedly into its neck as dark blood sprayed over them. Soon, the Hurlock shuddered and fell, motionless.

Solona was bleeding. Nathaniel scooped her up in his arms and ran. They did not get far when he found her a safe place to lie down.

"I am going back for Caled," he said.

"Be careful," she touched his hand.

He could see that the swordsman was still alive, although badly injured. Caled struggled to his feet, only to fall again.

"Hold on to me," Nathaniel instructed as he put Caled's arm over his shoulder and half-dragged the man away. He felt a sharp pain in his arm as an arrow found its way through his armor, followed by another in his side. _Curses!_ From the corner of his eye he could see a pack of Genlocks quickly closing in on them. Nathaniel trembled as he reached for his dagger. _Maker, make my death quick._

He was startled by a deafening crack of thunder, followed by a cold gust of wind. A whirlpool of air and ice appeared behind the men, swirling as it grew quickly. Nathaniel and Caled threw themselves on to the ground as the arcane blizzard furiously enveloped the Darkspawn pack, freezing them where they stood. Solona was struggling to keep the storm raging, pain etched in her face.

"Now is our chance, run!" She shouted at the men as her mana rapidly drained.

Nathaniel helped Caled scramble to safety. He reached for Solona just as she collapsed in exhaustion. They made it out of the scrubs, safe but wounded, and limped into a nearby settlement.

* * *

It was not long before they had found shelter with a local family. The house was small and sparse, but at least it was warm and they had food and fresh water. Nathaniel watched as Solona cleaned and dressed his injuries. Her touch was soft and gentle, giving him great comfort.

"Flesh wounds only. They should heal easily," she said.

He saw her flinch in pain as she moved about.

"Let me take a look at you, Solona," he voiced his concern.

"No need, a simple healing spell has staunched the bleeding. Rest now." She turned to Ser Caled, who had a bandage around his head. "You too, Caled. I will send word to Varel in the morning."

She made her way out to the small stream behind the house, looking over her shoulder as she walked. Satisfied that she was alone, she knelt by the water and removed her clothes. She carefully washed the blood from her arms and neck.

A rustling from behind startled her. She turned around.

"Nathaniel!"

He emerged from the brushes. Solona held a towel to her naked body as she tried to retain what little modesty she had.

He looked at her, disturbed. "When were you going to tell me about the child you are carrying?"

The colour drained from her face. "You were watching me?" She could not bring herself to face him.

"Do you think I am so blind as to have not noticed throughout this time?" He was almost livid. "You wear your robes loosely, but you cannot hide the way you move." He looked down at her swollen belly.

Seeing her unease, his voice softened. "Although I had my suspicions, I did not want to pry, as I had hoped that you would tell me yourself."

"Nathaniel, I do not even know where to begin. Please just leave me be." Her eyes filled with tears.

He knelt down beside her. "Why are you hiding it?"

She looked away from him.

He took her hand in his and touched her face gently. "Does Alistair know?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He does not. And if you must ask, then yes, it _is _his child." She wiped away a tear, then said forcefully, "I do not deserve to be judged harshly for my decisions, least of all by you."

"I am sorry if I seem angry, but seeing you injured today has upset me much."

He hesitated, then lifted her face towards him and kissed her on the lips. For the first time, she did not pull away.

"I care about you, Solona, more than you know."

"Then I will tell you what you wish to hear," she sighed.

* * *

Solona had felt the stirrings of the new life in her womb just days before the Battle of Denerim. Although unexpected, she was joyous, but thought it was best to keep the news to herself until the time was right. Riordan's revelation on the eve of the Battle had upset her greatly, but Morrigan's proposition afterwards gave her hope. _Were the witch to conceive a child with a Grey Warden, it would absorb the essence of Urthemiel as it fell, sparing her and Alistair's lives. _The Warden in question was Alistair. Solona knew then, that she and her beloved would survive the slaying, only not on Morrigan's terms. The Witch of course, had no idea that her ritual would now be pointless.

"Morrigan, I simply will not agree to this. Do not ask for a reason."

"Then you would rather die? You are even more foolish than that loved-up lapdog of yours."

_And what of my child then?_ _It will live, but will it be an abomination?_ Solona feared for its life. _Morrigan must never know._ _No one must know._

When the Archdemon fell, Solona felt its soul enter her body, making its way into her womb, claiming her child. It was painful and cold, like a shard of ice tearing through her. The pain lingered till now, and she was greatly weakened.

* * *

Nathaniel held her close to him as she wept in his arms. His heart ached for her. Hard as it was to believe her revelation, he knew it to be true. The seriousness of the matter was clear.

"Solona, tell me what I can do."

"As much as I want it, you cannot possibly help me. I will travel to the Circle when the time nears. I have sent word to Wynne. The magi are my only salvation."

"Then I will do everything to protect you and your child."

He kissed her again, more fervidly this time. He felt her breathing quicken as she kissed him back.

"I have loved you since the day we met, Solona. Do not deny that you feel the same way about me. I know how your body quivers so when we touch."

"And I do love you," she whispered, knowing that she meant it. She had longed for him, but her loyalty to Alistair had always held her back. It did not seem to matter now.

_She is more beautiful than ever, _he thought. The feel of her naked body against his was too much to bear. His loins warmed with excitement. He laid her on the soft ground, gently parting her thighs. She was wet with desire. His breathing became heavier as his urge rose. She braced her knees against her belly, letting him make love to her, their bodies craving for each other. He had not felt such intense pleasure in his life. And neither had she. As he took to her deeper, she winced a little.

"Am I hurting you? I will stop if you wish it," his asked, concerned. He leaned on his elbows, easing off her.

"No...I have wanted this," she breathed, looking into his beautiful, dark eyes. "Since the day we met."


	7. Chapter 7

7. A Rogue's Mission

Two hundred men marched northwards of Ferelden, led by one Ser Godfrey and bearing King Theirin's heraldry. Word of the Ferelden army's decent into the Penryns spread through the valley. Not a large group by any means, but the men were well-trained and equipped in only the finest armor. The Nevarran troops paled in comparison.

"The rebel strongholds," Senior Grey Warden Ranulf declared as he gestured to the map in front of them, marked with at least ten locations. "Villages and settlements. They hide amongst the people."

"Smart of them. A challenge for us, no doubt. And the villagers will get in the way," said Ser Godfrey.

Alonso, the Nevarran General spoke up. "There will be innocent lives lost, yes. But it is a small price to pay. Nevarra accepts the use of force where necessary."

"And the rebel leader?" Ser Godfrey enquired.

"Likely based in Orlais, although unfortunately our spies have little on that," Alonso said.

"What do we know of their numbers?"

"Our estimates stand at about three hundred, including the outskirts. But this is only a guess."

Ser Godfrey pondered awhile as he examined the map. "They may be brave but a civilian force can hardly be considered a match for an army," he concluded confidently.

Ranulf raised an eyebrow. "Civilians they may be, but remarkably clever. We have lost eight outposts. And they have passageways through the mines, rigged with explosives. None are accessible to us."

"Then we will flush them out, _from each and every home."_

_

* * *

_

Geraint silently listened through the floorboards as the two figures paced the room. Sweat dripped from his brow. He was almost certain that they could hear his heart pounding in his chest. From their voices he knew that they were Ferelden and from the sound of their steps, they wore heavy armor. _Ferelden soldiers._ He knew exactly what they were looking for. He was prepared. At the merest hint of being found, he would leap at them from under the floor and bury his dagger in their throats. But the old man had said nothing. Not even after they had struck him with their fists. The men were getting restless and edgy. Geraint swallowed hard as he heard a blade being unsheathed. There was a short scuffle, then a moan as the old man tumbled onto the floor, inches from his face. His eyes stared at Geraint through the slits, unseeing. Blood seeped through the boards and onto his clothes. Then, the men were gone.

Under the cover of darkness, Geraint fled back to the Borderlands.

* * *

Alistair waited nervously outside the Queens chambers. He accosted the healer as soon as she emerged.

"How is she?"

"She is well and the child remains safe. A small scare, that is all. Common in the early stages."

_Thank the Maker!_ Alistair hurried to her side. He found her sitting up in bed, smiling, albeit looking a little pale. He took her hand.

"I feared the worst, my darling. You have no idea how relieved I am," he said, planting a kiss on her lips.

"So too, am I," she replied. "But come, help me up. There is much I have to do."

"Shouldn't you rest? If anything, just to be safe," Alistair protested.

"I am not an invalid. And the affairs of the lands await our decision. Have you read Solona's report?"

"I had meant to, but did not get around to it," he answered sheepishly. He loathed having to deal with such mundane matters, preferring instead to let Anora take the reins.

"As I thought," she sighed. "Darkspawn sightings have increased again in the coast. Had you read her letter, you would have known that they were attacked outside of Amaranthine."

"I am not overly concerned. I know very well that Solona is a powerful mage and the Darkspawn, numerous as they are, are no match against her and her fighters. I expect they survived unscathed?"

"Not entirely. Ser Caled was gravely wounded, although recovering now. And Solona herself sustained worrisome injuries. The Seneschal had to send out a rescue party."

"My word!" he exclaimed, surprised. "The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Solona has grown weaker since the Battle. I hope 'tis nothing serious. I will enquire about her health. And perhaps it is time to pay a visit to the Keep."

"If you feel that you must." Anora felt disdain at the thought of Alistair seeing his lover again, but she hid it well. "I have yet to mention that she has requested another fifty troops for the region."

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Fifty? That is much to ask for. Must we comply?"

"It is only because of the Darkspawn. A number of encampments have been located and must be destroyed. There are also the settlements outside of Amaranthine and Highever that need defending against further attacks."

Without hesitation, she added, "It is too bad that we cannot afford to do so right now. Word from the Penryns is that the troops may be stationed there for longer than expected. We cannot have more men leave Denerim."

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair. "I feared that it would come to this. I would hate to deny her the army she desperately needs, but there is little I can do about it. Yet I feel that I owe her much for all she that has done for me. She deserves more."

"Alistair, do you think of her often?" The question came out of nowhere.

He was taken aback by Anora's bluntness. "Only to ponder the decline in our...relations," he managed to answer, half truthfully.

In truth, he _had _thought much about Solona since she left. He longed to hold her in his arms again, to smell her skin and feel the touch of her lips. But it was also true that, deep as his feelings were for her, he knew that something had come between them. She had changed. _Has she stopped loving me?_ And his unintended feelings for Anora had only widened the chasm. _Is it possible to love two women at once? _For Alistair, it certainly seems so.

If Anora had felt anything from his response she did not show it. She spoke, "You mustn't forget that the choices we make are not for ourselves but for our country. Solona is wise enough to know that. And she will accept our decision. Besides, having the immediate support of Weisshaupt would ensure that the Order is rebuilt as quickly as possible, thus enabling us to fight the Darkspawn when it is most needed. Even if it means sending our men to the Penryns first."

"How is it that you always manage to sound so convincing?" Alistair quizzed her teasingly.

"I suppose it is a habit from having to do so constantly with Cailan."

"Oh. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked." Then his face brightened. "But enough official talk already. When shall we make the announcement?"

"Soon, if you wish it. It matters not to me."

"Soon it will be. Our people will be glad to hear of it. It gives them hope. And there is nothing wrong in wanting to show them how happy I am about our child," he said.

"Or perhaps you cannot wait to boast about how virile you are?"

"Well, there is that too, yes."

* * *

The two men sat silently at their usual corner in the Jerusalem. The mood was solemn.

"A blow to the rebellion," Liam said, breaking the silence. His voice was strained. He looked ragged and bore a fresh wound on his brow.

He continued, "We've lost all the outposts. I killed three soldiers myself, but they fight like bastards."

"The villages fare no better. I narrowly escaped but they found Bryan and Colred," Geraint spoke.

"And?"

"Dead."

Liam clenched his fists. "So the Fereldens want to play. We will join them at their game," he seethed.

"We have lost the fight, brother."

The young man shot a cold look at him. "You obviously know nothing of this fight. We have lost many times before, yet we still stand."

Geraint did not respond but stared at the half empty pitcher of ale in his hand.

"We fought the Nevarrans, then the Greys. We will now deal with the Fereldens, if that is what it takes."

"You do realize that we are severely overwhelmed, don't you?"

Liam continued. "I said _deal, not fight_. We retreat now, make it look like we've given up. Then we strike them where it hurts."

"And where might that be?" Geraint implored.

"Their King, of course."

Geraint sat upright in his chair. "You are insane. How do you suppose we do that?"

"Aren't you an assassin?"

"You ask for too much."

"You no longer have your heart in this fight, Geraint. Not since Leliana left. I wonder where she has gone. No doubt back to offering personal favours to anyone with coin," Liam sniggered.

Geraint angrily slammed his pitcher down on the table. "So I will do it. If only for the sake of our fallen brothers." He then added, "But bear in mind, King Theirin is a Grey Warden. This will not go down well at Weisshaupt."

"Then you know nothing of politics," Liam retorted.


	8. Chapter 8

8. A Chance Encounter

Nathaniel Howe had begun to take over much of The Commander's role at Vigil's Keep, apart from handling the new Warden recruits, which was still Solona's task. He proved himself to be a wise and worthy leader and any misgivings from the Seneschal quickly evaporated. Solona spent much of her time in her own quarters, overseeing important matters from within. She was now very heavy with child and it was no easy task hiding her rapidly growing girth. Only Nathaniel, Seneschal Varel and her chambermaids were allowed to see her. To the rest of the men at the Keep, the Commander was on a sabbatical, recovering from her injuries sustained in the last attack.

"You have not asked me to join the Order. Why?" Nathaniel asked Solona as they laid in bed together, spent from a session of passionate lovemaking. He had greatly enjoyed their intimate moments together in spite of her condition. He found her ripely pregnant body so sensuous and utterly ravishing.

She had known that he would ask this. "It no secret between us that you resent the Grey Wardens. Understandable, given the circumstances of your father's death." She added, "I did not want to make you choose between following your heart and doing what you thought would please me."

"There was a time when that was true. I no longer feel that way." He took her hands and looked into her eyes. "I will do it because I want to protect my land and the only person that matters to me."

"Are you certain?"

"Do you not think me worthy?"

"Of course I do, more than ever. You have killed far more Darkspawn than any of the recruits here." She added quietly, "There are risks with the Joining."

"I will do whatever it takes."

It was not long afterwards that the three had gathered in a circle, their heads bowed. The Seneschal read a few verses aloud from a book in his hands. Then the blood-filled chalice was passed around. The young man held it in his hands for a short while, deep in contemplation. Finally, he put it to his mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately he stiffened, then shuddered as he fell onto the floor. His body spasmed and writhed, frothy spit pooled in his mouth, his eyes rolled in their sockets. The woman turned away, unable to face the spectacle. Within minutes, it was over. The young man lay motionless on the floor.

* * *

Ranulf could not take his eyes off the young bard. She was a strikingly pretty girl, with the reddest locks he had ever seen. And she had the most melodic and beautiful voice. She wore her dress, a flattering and tight-fitting piece, very tantalisingly. He sipped his ale, watching her intently as she strung her harp and sang songs of heroic deeds and forbidden love. The Helm and Sword tavern had started to fill with patrons by sundown. A few lonely travellers, not unlike himself, kept to themselves at the bar. A small scuffle in the corner ended with a drunk husband, eye blackened, lying motionless on the floor as his wife stormed out the door.

The Senior Warden had stopped for the night at the small town in the Borderlands of Orlais, on his way back to Anderfels. He took a room at the tavern, and was thankful for the hearty food and warm ale. He had just downed his third pitcher and was starting to feel the effects of it. The bard had finished now, and he watched as she sashayed up to the barkeep. They spoke awhile, the girl laughing and flaunting her breasts at him. He watched as the barkeep handed a few coins to her. She stood on her toes and kissed him on his cheek. Ranulf made his move.

"I must applaud you for that performance, minstrel."

"Thank you, kind sir," she replied as she smiled a lovely smile and turned around to face him. Her smile was short-lived when she noticed his Warden's uniform. She swiftly averted her eyes. "May I ask your name?"

"I am Ranulf. And yours?"

"Leliana," she said. "You are a Grey Warden, are you not?"

"Yes I am. Does that bother you?" His hair and beard were greyed, but his face was unmarked and he didn't look more than forty years of age. He was not bad-looking at all.

"No, in fact, quite the opposite," she smiled. "Tell me, Ranulf, what is a Warden like yourself doing in these parts?"

"Can't a lonely stranger just enjoy the company of a beautiful woman without being questioned of his intentions?" He laughed. "If you must know, I was just passing through town and needed a warm bed. But I could sit here all night just listening to your lovely voice." He beckoned her to join him at his table.

"I am sorry to pry," she said, as she sat down next to him. "Are you here about the troubles?"

"Why, yes I am. So what have you heard?" He put his arm liberally around her waist. He smelled strongly of drink. Leliana felt a little uncomfortable but did not resist.

"Not much," she lied. "I hear many men have died. It must be horrible to live in constant fear of your life." _He was drunk._

"Yes, yes. But it will be over soon."

"Oh? You sound very sure of yourself," Leliana said.

"And why not? We plan to rid the place of every one of those bastard troublemakers. And by the looks of it, we are almost done," he replied as he lifted his pitcher to his lips.

Leliana felt her temper rise. "It is murder which you speak of. Do you truly think you can stop them? You will only serve to lose more lives in this never-ending stupidity," she argued, unable to stem her anger. "They fight only for what is rightly theirs," she continued, but stopped herself, regretting that she had said anything at all.

"An interesting sentiment, from someone such as yourself." Ranulf studied her face, sensing her unease. _She knows more than she lets on, _he thought to himself. But he was in no mood for interrogation. Instead, his eyes were drawn to her chest. Her voluptuous breasts were heaving as she breathed, her dress barely able to contain them. The allure was too strong. He licked his lips.

"But let's not talk of such things," he said as he put his hand on her lap.

She flinched, saying nothing. He pretended not to notice.

"Let me ask you then, my lovely Leliana. What does a pretty little thing like yourself do to make a living in a place like this?" he said, stroking the inside of her thigh.

"Why, what a silly thing to ask. I sing and play my harp to soothe tired travellers like yourself. Sometimes I am paid coin for it." There was irritation in her voice. She attempted to move away but he held on to her tightly. His face reddened.

"Stay," he ordered. His breath was hot on her neck. "Your dress...'tis very revealing, is it not?"

She did not respond but felt only revulsion.

"Why must you tempt me so?" he said harshly. He took her by the neck and kissed her mouth forcefully whilst fondling her breasts. Leliana pushed him away and stood up. As she did so, he saw that she had a dagger strapped to her thigh. She reached for it.

"Come near me again and I swear this blade will find your gullet," she seethed. She promptly walked away.

_A most interesting lass indeed,_ he thought to himself. _The harlot has something to hide._

_

* * *

_

It was almost winter in Thedas. The first snowfall was expected soon and frost had begun to cover the ground. All over the lands, farmers herded their livestock away from the chilly winds and market traders switched their wares to the required winter necessities. At the Keep, a new parapet had been constructed and the outer barricades were almost complete. Large, wood-burning braziers had been erected to keep the cold away. The pantries had been well-stocked with supplies, enough to feed them for many moons.

The men had had some success in keeping the Darkspawn under control in the region, but exhaustion had begun to set in and their morale had somewhat faltered. Without the King's help, it would be difficult to maintain their positions for much longer. Solona had hoped to do more for her troops. But alas, there was little time left before her child was due, a few weeks at the most, she knew, and she must leave soon. She spent the day making the necessary preparations for her journey to Lake Calenhad.

Solona flinched in pain as she rose with difficulty from her chair. The babe in her womb kicked and squirmed, causing her to gasp for breath. She heard the door open and the approach of familiar footsteps.

"Are you hurting?" Nathaniel asked worriedly, noticing her discomfort. Her breathing seemed laboured.

"Tis nothing to worry about, not unexpected at this time," she assured him. He offered her his arm which she took gratefully, leaning heavily against him. _She has grown so weak,_ he thought.

"Must you go?" he pleaded. "You are in no condition to travel. There are skilled midwives and healers here."

"There is no question about it. You know this," she replied stubbornly. She thought about how handsome he looked in his Grey armor and how he would make a fine Warden-Commander in her place, should the unthinkable happen to her. _And the unthinkable may well happen,_ she strongly felt, for as she grew weaker by the day, she had begun to fear that she would not survive the birthing.

Nathaniel sighed. "The horses are being readied as we speak and I have loaded the carriage. I am ready when you are." He had insisted on taking her to the Tower himself. She saw no point in arguing with him, and so had reluctantly agreed.

"Then we shall leave at nightfall. Have you spoken to the men?"

"Yes, and Caled has agreed to see to the Keep. They know no better of course, and anxiously await your return."

As soon as darkness fell, Nathaniel and Solona boarded the horse-drawn carriage and made their way westward. The ache in her side grew into a steady pain.


	9. Chapter 9

9. The Incident at the Palace

His room at the Pearl was dark and dingy. The curtains were drawn and an oil lamp sat unlit on the dirty floor. Through the thin wall, he could hear the muffled grunts of a couple in copulation. Geraint was in Denerim. He sat on his bed, staring at the gold pendant in his hand. He thought about her_. _Liam was right, he would gladly give up the fight for her. _One last push,_ he had promised. And so it was to be. _This_ was his last job. _And she will take me back, I know it, once I am done._ He held the pendant to his lips and kissed it. _Please forgive me, Leliana, for what I am about to do._ He put it carefully away in his pocket. _Maker, don't let her ever find out. _

The palace district was not far away from the main marketplace. About twenty guards patrolled the grounds. In the daytime, traders plied their goods outside the walls whilst convoys of local officials and nobles streamed through the gates. The grounds were a hive of activity. _Perfect for slipping in unnoticed._

Geraint knew the layout of the palace by heart. He knew as well that the King was hardly ever alone. He always had two heavily armed guards with him. But he also knew that the King enjoyed taking long baths in his bedchamber every evening, whilst his guards waited outside the door. _Plenty of time to do the deed and not a better opportunity than that, _he thought. All this he gleamed readily from a banished maid-servant with a loose tongue in return for a few sovereigns.

Geraint pretended to peruse the marketstalls outside the palace walls, as he had done every day for the last week or so. He was dressed inconspicuously in commoner's clothing. Just as the trading hours were coming to an end, something caught his eye. A young servant girl was struggling to push a cart filled with sacks of grain through the gates. _Perfect._

"That looks far too heavy for you. Let me help," he smiled as he approached her.

"Why, thank you so much, sir. 'Tis a nice surprise to meet a chivalrous man in this day and age," she replied with a little too much gratitude.

"Where would you like me to take this?" he asked, knowing perfectly well where she was headed to.

"The kitchen pantry. Come, I will lead the way."

Geraint kept his head down as they passed the palace guards. No one paid them any notice. The pantry itself was large and filled to the brim with foodstuff. _They certainly ate well._ He unloaded the cart and dusted himself off.

"I owe you my thanks, sir, but I must be going now. I am sure you can find your own way out," she said.

Geraint smiled. "Glad to be of assistance. I will take my leave," he said with a nod and waited for her to skip away.

The pantry led out into a courtyard adjoining the guards' quarters and main palace. Satisfied that no one was in sight, he crossed the yard, picking up a handful of loose cobblestones along the way. The palace corridors were poorly lit, which he used to his advantage. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, hiding easily from the patrolling guards. Before long, he found himself at the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the royal chambers.

_Footsteps!_ Geraint swiftly braced himself against the wall, blending into the darkness. He could hear the voices of two men approaching from behind him, their steps getting louder. As they came into view, he could see that they were guards. He hadn't expected them here at this time. _Why,_ _the changing of the guards, of course._ _Curses!_ He had simply forgotten about that. With bated breath, he waited for them to pass, only breathing again once they had disappeared up the stairs. He continued to wait, unmoving.

On cue, two other guards, having just finished their shift, started descending. He inched closer to the wall, suddenly aware that the shadows had shifted. He held his breath as the first guard passed him, suspecting nothing. The second guard approached and stopped suddenly, inches from his body. Geraint felt his heart pounding in his chest. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dagger.

"Hey..." The words hard barely formed in his mouth when the man felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck. In an instant, he had collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The first guard turned around, blinking in bewilderment. Geraint swiftly and instinctively buried his dagger in the man's throat, killing him instantly.

He was angry at his lapse. _A mistake I shouldn't have made, and time was wasted. _He looked down at the two bodies on the floor. He had to hide them. The stairwell was small, but dark enough. He dragged them into a corner until they were out of sight before swiftly making his way to the floor above.

The landing led directly into a corridor, which in turn, led to the royal chamber. The two guards who had passed him earlier stood silently by the chamber door, their flanks towards him. He looked up and saw a small alcove, perfectly hidden from view. He climbed into it and waited patiently.

Geraint had little idea of how long he had been up there. He sensed that it was getting late, and even considered the notion that the King may have altered his routine. _And someone will find the bodies._ But soon enough, he could clearly hear the sound of footsteps emerging from the stairwell beneath him. It continued down the corridor.

"You Majesty," a guard spoke as the door opened and closed.

_The King,_ he knew. _Now is my chance._ He reached into his pocket and dropped a cobblestone down the stairwell. It made a loud noise, startling the guards.

"Did you hear that?"

"It's probably the rats."

_Idiots!_ He reached for another stone and threw it down the stairwell again, forcefully this time.

"There it goes again."

"Very well, I'll take a look."

As soon as the first guard disappeared, Geraint slipped out of his hiding place. It took him mere seconds to take down the foolishly unobservant guard left standing at the door. The shock on his face as he felt his life drain away said it all. As Geraint hid the body, the first guard returned, having found nothing of interest.

"What in the Maker's name..."

Before he could finish, Geraint had leapt at him from behind, grabbing the man's head with both hands and twisting his neck forcefully with a sickening crunch. He too, was dead.

Geraint readied his blade and stepped through the chamber door. The room was spacious, and like the rest of the palace, dimly lit. A large four poster bed stood in the centre, empty. Tapestries and other antiquities adorned the walls and shelves. He crossed the room stealthily. His palms were sweaty and his mouth dry. A wooden ornate screen hid the large copper tub from view. He heard the soft stirrings of water as he approached it. The backlit figure soaking in the tub was facing away from him, the top of its head just visible_._ _It is now or never._

A skilled assassin may know of a number of ways to finish the job, although the art of _backstabbing_ was always preferred. If the aim was correct, the victim would almost always die instantly. Geraint knew this well and he practised his art with much precision, using only the sharpest of blades. It certainly helped that he was blessed with stealth and lightness of foot. Tonight should have been no different. _An easy kill,_ as he called it. But as it happens, plans can go awry sometimes and Geraint was not spared of this misfortune.

He reached from behind the figure, locking its head in the crook of his arm, choking it. The target immediately struggled and kicked out violently, albeit in vain. With his free hand Geraint brought his blade to its neck, but stopped short as the tip pierced its skin. Something was dreadfully amiss.

A sliver of light irradiated the target's face, revealing a pair of pretty eyes, delicate feminine features, pale skin and fair hair tied neatly in a bun. _A woman! _Geraint hesitated, confused, although his tight choke on her never wavered. _What trickery is this?_ Her blue eyes were wide and filled with terror as she stared unblinking at him, her mouth forming words but unable to utter a single sound.

It was of course, no trick at all. He had simply not foreseen this. And how could he? Panic overcame him. Unthinking,Geraint raised his dagger and struck down on her naked chest. He drew blood but his aim was off. She struggled frenziedly some more, splashing him with soap and water. He pushed her head beneath the surface and struck her again and again with much alacrity until her movements finally slowed, then ceased completely.

Geraint drew back as the horror dawned on him. The woman's mutilated body lay motionless in the tub, her lifeless arm hung over the edge, the water slowly turning a deep crimson colour. His hands and garments were wet and bloodied. He was shaking uncontrollably. _I am sorry, this was not meant to be._

_

* * *

_

Alistair had planned to pay an unannounced visit to Vigil's Keep. He was worried about the attacks in Amaranthine and hoped that his presence would help raise the morale of both the troops and Wardens over there. But his main concern was regarding his beloved Solona. Her letters had become infrequent. In her last message to him, she had written about returning to the Circle Tower for a period of respite and appointing the rogue Nathaniel Howe, now a Grey Warden, as Warden-Commander in her absence. This upset him. Not so much for the fact that the son of a traitor would soon be commandeering the Order, but that his lover was obviously ailing and had opted to keep him in the dark about it.

"I must speak with her myself," he had insisted, during dinner. "She will certainly be surprised, but only pleasantly, I hope."

"I will not stop you. But will you at least stay the night? You can leave first thing in the morning," Anora said, her eyes pleading with him. The plate of food in front of her remained untouched, its smell had turned her stomach. She had fared terribly with the sickness that accompanied her expectant state.

"I won't be away for long, my love. And the sooner I leave, the sooner I shall return," he reasoned. He had been fickle about it all day, finally deciding that he should best leave immediately before Anora caused him to change his mind again.

"So be it then. I bid you a safe journey."

Anora's sad, beautiful eyes melted his heart. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, fighting the urge to make love to her right there on the dining table. Yet, he could not stop thinking about Solona and how he could barely wait to see her again.

The King had rushed his men to ready his horses that evening. He set forth with a small party of guards at sundown, having given little notice to his council, who were naturally surprised by his sudden departure.

For the first time since her marriage to Alistair, Anora felt vulnerable and very alone. Weary and sick, she called off her regular meeting with the royal advisors and retired to her chambers for the night. The chambermaid had filled the large copper basin with steaming, soapy water, as she had routinely done every evening for the King. Enticed, Anora undressed herself and sank into the warm, soothing bath, sleep overwhelming her quickly.

Alistair and his men had covered much ground overnight, arriving the next afternoon at their halfway mark, a small coastal village where they set up camp. Alistair inferred that they should reach the Keep by the following morning. For now, he could do with some rest.

His sleep was broken by the sound of voices outside.

"A messenger from Denerim!" A head poked through his tent. It was one of his guards.

Alistair nodded as a young man, travel-worn, staggered towards him. His face was solemn.

"I bear urgent news from the palace, Your Majesty." Trembling, he handed the King a small parchment.


	10. Chapter 10

10. An Evil in their Midst

The carriage rattled speedily along the dirt roads southwest of Amaranthine, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Nathaniel knew that their journey would be long and arduous, and it was for that very reason that he had insisted on escorting her. It had taken them a whole day's travel to arrive at the plains of the Bannorns, and he expected that it would require a further three days' journey to Lake Calenhad. It was now getting dark and both were weary.

Solona had been quiet and withdrawn. She lay on her side, holding a warm blanket over herself. Every now and again, the carriage jolted, sending a sharp pain through her body. Nathaniel noticed her stiffen with a pained look on her face as they hit another bump in the road.

"We will rest soon. There is a clearing not far ahead where we'll be safe for the night," he tried to console her.

He was right and Solona was soon relieved when her feet touched the ground. He tethered the horses and quickly got a fire going.

"You _must_ eat something, please." He did not wish to see her take ill before they reached the Tower.

Solona just shook her head. She lay on the soft earth by the fire, shivering. She was clutching her sides. She looked as if she was hurting.

"Is it time?" he asked, a note of panic rising in his voice.

"Twas just the ride. I should be better with rest," she replied weakly, trying to reassure him. But she knew he was right in his suspicions, only she had not expected the pains to start this early. She prayed that they would reach the Tower before she birthed her child.

Nathaniel covered her gently with a warm blanket. He took her hand. It was clammy. He touched her forehead.

"You're running a temperature," he said worriedly. "We will find you a healer tomorrow. There are settlements in the area."

"My love," she said softly, looking up at him. "Hold me."

She closed her eyes. He saw that she had fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead tenderly and held her close to him. _She looks emaciated_, he thought. As her belly grew larger in these last few weeks, the rest of her body had thinned. It was almost as if her child was sucking all the life out of her.

Darkness enveloped the two lovers as they slept in each other's arms. Nathaniel was out cold but Solona slumbered restlessly. She knew that they were being watched. She had felt a presence ever since they reached the Bannorns and it had followed them till now, never leaving, but keeping a careful distance. It was not Darkspawn, she was sure of it, as it was unlike the feeling the taint in her blood gave her when those vile creatures were nearby. This was something different, but she could not say what, only that this being was not human and that it was evil. But she said nothing.

At the break of dawn, Nathaniel made ready for the road. Solona, too weak to walk, had to be carried into the carriage. The scenery was unchanging for many miles as they continued their journey onwards. The lands surrounding them were largely dry and flat, as was most of the Bannorns. Wild, yellow grass grew in abundance, almost as tall as a man in parts. They were still hours away from the nearest settlement, he knew, but was hopeful that they could reach it before sundown. _We need a healer and a place to rest, for she seems to fare worse today._

Solona felt the being slowly draw closer to them, keeping up with their pace. It was hungry and it wanted to consume her. _I must not let it._

_

* * *

_

The man in the red robes looked down at the bodies, satisfied with his handiwork. _True evil lies only in the hearts of men, and yours were particularly rotten, my friends._

Earlier that day, the four Templars had arrived at the settlement. It was clear that they were looking for him. He was not hard to find. The man in red kept mostly to himself, but the settlers were a suspicious bunch and always gave his house a wide berth anyway. He had no friends to speak of. And he found it irritating that shopkeepers would only reluctantly agree to trade with him, for they held some idiotic notion that his coin could somehow bring them harm. It did not help that he was often seen wandering around the plains, practising his dark arts in clear daylight.

"The swines return for more? I see lessons have not been learnt," the man in the red robes said in feigned surprise.

"So says a dead man," a Templar spoke.

"What will your whore-mothers think when they see your bodies, skins flayed, hanging from their windows? I dare not imagine," he taunted them.

A blade sliced through the air, stopping inches from his neck. "I say we kill him now," the younger Templar piped up angrily. He was still a boy and lacked the patience that maturity would bring.

"Kill? That will come...slowly. The maleficar will suffer for his actions first," the older Templar rebutted.

"I cannot wait for it," the man in red said. "In fact, the suspense is killing me right now."

His arms were tied behind his back, secured to a chair. They stood around him, swords drawn.

"Which of your fingers would you like us to cut off first?" The old Templar asked, smiling.

The man in red spat at him.

"What is that you say?" the Templar continued mockingly, then without hesitation added, "You mean the one between your legs? Very well, if you so wish," he laughed. His gold tooth glistened.

The man in red said calmly, "At least I've had my way with women. You pathetic fools know nothing of worldly pleasures other than what your left hand gives you." He added with a snicker, "And still you weep guiltily and whip your backs with barb after your dirty little deed."

The boy's angry blade swung through the air again, this time slicing his robes open at the chest. A long but shallow gash appeared on his torso, blood seeping out.

"Good boy,"the man in red grinned, relishing the sight of his blood. He felt his powers grow.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then opened them again. Much to their horror, they saw that his eyeballs had turned a black colour. He opened his mouth and exhaled, spewing forth a huge swarm of locusts which quickly overwhelmed the men, entering every orifice in their bodies and suffocating three of them including the boy.

The old Templar staggered backwards, his face frozen in fear. "You wouldn't dare," he said.

"You are rather defiant for someone in such a pickle."

"Let me go and I will tell them that you are dead," the old man reasoned desperately.

"Tempting, but no. I will only see more of your kind again, and soon at that." The man in red added, "Besides, I would enjoy this too much to let it pass."

First, the Templar felt a not altogether unpleasant tingle all over his body. It quickly turned into warmth, followed by an uncomfortable feeling of heat. It became quite unbearable when his blood started to boil and burst forth from his veins. At that very moment, he begged for death.

The man in red stood up from his chair and took a bow before the dying man. "Thank you for your kind hospitality, but I must take my leave now. I will come back for your bodies after my lunch for I am now quite famished."

* * *

The horses had grown tired and their pace soon slowed to a steady trot. Nathaniel shivered as their carriage approached the higher plains. _The Killing Fields,_ he knew. During the fourth Blight, hundreds of thousands of fighters had lost their lives to Darkspawn in the bloody battle that took place in this vast, lifeless section of the Bannorns. The ground was rocky and nothing grew from the dead soil. An endless sea of bones littered the ground, human and Darkspawn alike, polished by the winds over time. Tales abound of the undead and maleficars preying on unsuspecting travellers here. _Maker, let us pass unharmed,_ he prayed.

Solona struggled for breath in the thin air. Her fever had not subsided. Sweat dripped from her brow as she silently endured the agonising birth pangs tearing through her body. She noted with distress that blood had started to soak through her robes and down her legs where she sat. _And here it waits for me to further weaken, _she knew, feeling the chilly breath of her stalker on her back. She touched the locket she wore around her neck, and for the first time in many years, yearned for her own mother.

_Stay strong, _she ordered herself. She fought hard to keep awake, but her surroundings had turned hazy. Another wave of pain ripped her insides apart, causing her to retch. She dug her nails deep into the sides of the carriage, her face strained. _I can hold on no longer. _As she slumped forwards, rapidly losing awareness, she felt the being enter her body. She remembered no more after that.

Nathaniel was startled by her cry, for it was a most inhuman sound. He reined in the horses. Solona's body lay limp and lifeless, her face hidden from view.

He lifted her head and immediately recoiled in horror. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing, her pupils a blood-red colour. Her skin had turned white, almost translucent, and was covered in hideous, spidery blue veins. _Solona was an abomination._

Her body quivered grotesquely in his arms. Instinctively, he drew his dagger. _Maker help me! _The abomination sprung to life with a loud shriek that chilled him to the bone. Long, grey talons scratched at his face. He held its neck down with his hand and raised his blade, ready to strike at its heart. He hesitated. _No, I cannot. Not Solona. _His grip faltered. The creature rose to its feet and leapt at him, sending them flying to the ground below. It was strong.

The horses, frightened, bolted off, taking the carriage with them. Nathaniel was pinned to the ground, the creature straddling him, its nightmarish face only inches from his own. A long, forked tongue unfurled from its mouth and stroked his cheek as it hissed and spat. He reached for his dagger again. _You are not Solona. You killed her, you despicable thing. _He aimed for its neck and closed his eyes.

Just as suddenly, the abomination sat up with a start, then collapsed to the ground, face contorted and howling. It was not dying, but it seemed to be battling something from within. Whatever it was that had possessed her body, it was losing its grip. But only just. He could see Solona's face re-emerging in the creature's own, only to disappear again quickly. _Somehow she was fighting it._

Nathaniel called out to her repeatedly until he was hoarse, praying that she would hear him. The abomination continued to squirm on the ground, eventually exhausting itself. Some semblance of human form had returned to her body, but her skin was grey and the eyes were not hers. _It must be cast it out of her._ He picked her up in his arms and ran as fast as he could.

* * *

"A most unfortunate occurrence. You have my condolences," Senior Grey Warden Ranulf said solemnly. He had returned to Denerim immediately upon receiving word of Anora's untimely death.

Alistair did not answer. He sat at his desk, his back towards him.

Feeling uncomfortable, Ranulf rambled on. "I hope you take solace from the fact that she was a great Queen and admired by all, and that I too was very fond of her. She will be sorely missed."

Alistair turned around suddenly to face him. "She was murdered. Did you know that?"

"Alas, I heard it too."

"Do you know _why_ they killed her?"

"I do not, Your Majesty." The King was making him feel uneasy.

"You do not know because there_ is_ nothing to know. They _had not_ intended to kill her. They had meant to kill _me_." Alistair spoke loudly, anger in his voice. His fists were clenched.

"It is not your fault that she..." Ranulf began, but Alistair cut him short.

"I left the palace that night, on a whim. I am not ashamed to confess that my lover commands the Order at the Keep," the King said. "But through my rash actions, I allowed my wife to die," his voice trembled as he said this.

Alistair buried his face in his hands, sobbing. Ranulf fidgeted in place, uncertain of what to say next.

"Do you have any idea who it might have been?" The Senior Warden finally asked.

Alistair was silent for a long while. He trembled as he put his hand out. On his palm lay a gold, swan-shaped pendant. "They found it above the stairwell."

Ranulf's eyes widened. "A woman?"

"Tis hard to believe, but I know her. This pendant she wears..." Alistair's voice faltered, but he collected himself. "We were once friends, close but never lovers. A skilled rogue, Orlesian. Her name is Leliana."

Ranulf's heart skipped a beat. "By the Maker! A redhead, is she not? I think I know of whom you speak."

Alistair slammed his fists on his desk. "She had been called out as a traitor to Orlais in the past, or so I had gathered from her confessions. This may well be her way of redeeming herself to them. But what her true motives are, I know not. Perhaps it was duress. Perhaps not. It is clear that Orlais stood to gain from my death," he said. "Since our involvement in the valleys."

Ranulf nodded in agreement. "I have seen this girl. I knew from the start that she was up to no good. I have every reason to believe that she is capable of doing such a deed."

The King's demeanour darkened. "I cannot forgive her for the fact that she has betrayed me in such an unthinkable manner."

"I know where you can find her."


	11. Chapter 11

11. The Possessed

Nathaniel did not know how far he had run or for how long, only that he was desperate to save Solona from the abomination that she had become. His arms and back were numb from her weight and he was near to collapsing in exhaustion, but these things mattered not to him. It was dark when he staggered into the settlement and shouted for a healer as he fell to his knees.

"A Fade demon," the elven healer said as shook his head sadly. "The veil is thin in these parts. In her weakened state, she could do little to stop it entering her body," the elf continued. "I do not know what else to do. My salves are of no use to her. At least her babe is alive, that much I am sure of."

Nathaniel took him to be a city elf, although he did not think that it should matter. He was elderly and his manner exhibited wisdom and experience. His robes bore the hallmark of a Circle mage. He had brought them to his home. As she lay on his bed, she continued to writhe and flail her limbs about, shrieking frequently and uttering indiscernible words. Her eyes were still unseeing. The men stood over her.

"She fights it, as you can see her do now," Nathaniel said. "She is stronger than you think."

"Oh yes, I don't doubt that. I have heard of her many brave deeds during the Blight. Quite unmatched, they are." He smiled, but he looked puzzled. "There is one thing I find most unusual. I have never seen a mage, already consumed by such a Demon, able to battle it in this manner. Unless of course, they were familiar with the more occult arts."

"She is no blood mage, for sure."

He thoughtfully examined her with his eyes, then turned to Nathaniel. "The child she carries, is it yours?"

Nathaniel shook his head.

"Perhaps that of another mage?"

"No, but it is no ordinary child," Nathaniel sighed. "You may want to sit down first." He tried his best to convey Solona's account of her child's conception and the events that had followed soon after. The healer listened attentively.

"Far-fetched indeed, but it makes much sense. I do believe, as I suspected, that the child protects her from being fully consumed by the Demon," the healer spoke. "If what you say is true, this child holds more power than any human I have ever seen, if you can call it human."

Nathaniel raised his hands to his temples. "She is due to give birth soon. If are implying that we must cast this Demon out before the babe is born, then we have little time left."

"Less than you think. She is labouring as we speak, and has been so for many hours, even days, perhaps," he said as he lifted the hem of her robes, revealing a fresh pool of blood between her legs.

Nathaniel felt sickened as all hope vanished. He knelt by her bed and touched her face. He had tears in his eyes. "Then we can do no more but bide our time. She will succumb to her fate soon." _When that time comes, one of us will have to deal the killing blow. But I cannot do it._

The healer cleared this throat. "There_ is_ someone else we could speak to," he said, almost reluctantly.

* * *

Solona was lost. This was a very strange place indeed. The landscape around her was ever-changing. She knew that she must get out. _But how, if I do not know where I am? _There were trees and flowers, but none were alive. A small house, so far away and unreachable, yet familiar like the one she used to live in. The sky was purple and still. _What an unusual colour, but strangely beautiful, like a dream._

She could hear Nathaniel's voice emanating from somewhere far away. He was calling her name. He sounded afraid. She wanted to reach out to him, to embrace and console him, but she could not see him.

She was startled by a babe's cry. She turned to the sound and saw a young infant with fair hair, lying on the ground. She reached out, but the babe seemed to move farther away which each step she took.

A figure came between her and the child. A woman, she could tell. But her face was hidden.

"Who are you?" Solona called out to the figure. "I cannot see your face."

"You do not remember?" the figure laughed. "I saved your life once. And likewise, you did mine."

The voice was familiar. "It is you, _Morrigan_," Solona said, suddenly afraid. "Why are you doing this?"

"Always so full of questions, dear Solona," she said, tauntingly. Then, her tone changed. "You refused me when I asked. I knew not why then, but it was obvious when his death did not come. Now the child that was meant to be mine, I shall claim from you."

"The child is not yours to take. You care only for the power that it will bring you, for whatever evil intentions you harbour. I will not allow it."

"You know nothing of my intentions. Do you think yourself so holy? You hide his child from him. You lie with a man you do not truly love, just to hurt the one that you do," the Witch mocked.

"Leave my matters be, for _you_ are least qualified to speak of morals. Even if I were not with child then, I would have refused you your ritual," Solona said angrily. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure an offensive spell, but nothing came. Her magic was useless.

"You cannot fight me here," Morrigan said, laughing. "'Tis not your Fade, but mine."

Solona tried to run at her, but her legs were embedded in the soft ground.

"Your child may protect you now, but not for much longer," Morrigan said, as she picked up the crying babe.

"You dare not take my child!" Solona screamed. As she did so, a sudden, familiar pain tore through her body. She fell to the ground. She looked up and saw the ceiling of a house. Then two faces, one unfamiliar, but the other was Nathaniel, looking down on her. She tried to scream but no voice came. Then the vision disappeared and she was pulled back into the Fade once more but the child and the Witch were gone.

* * *

News of the Queen Anora's unexpected death had spread quickly throughout the country. The people of Ferelden mourned for their fallen monarch. Grown men and women wept openly on the streets when they heard of her painful final moments. The young chambermaid who was first to chance upon the horrifying scene was inconsolable and had promptly fallen ill, yet to recover. The mood was solemn at the palace where preparations for a state funeral were being hastily made.

The King spent much of his time grieving alone in his study, rarely speaking or eating. He had not returned to his chambers to sleep, for the memories of her were still raw and painful, preferring to use the guest rooms instead. He thought constantly of her. _My wife and mother of my child that I will never get to see or hold. You died because of me and for that I am truly sorry._

He clutched a scroll close to his chest. It was worn from being re-read so many times and stained with marks where his teardrops had fallen. It was Anora's last testament, which he found amongst her belongings. It was one that she had written just before she died. She had addressed him as her true love, and had talked about her hopes and dreams, and how she looked forward to welcoming their child into the world.

_I made her happy and she loved me with all her heart._ Although he loved her very deeply in return, much more than he had expected, he still held a special place in his heart for Solona. Anora had always known this, yet she still loved him unconditionally. And it was this that saddened him the most. _She deserved much better._

A knock on the door propelled him back to the present. The Field Marshall walked in.

"Your Majesty," he acknowledged the King.

"Please sit down." Alistair handed him a sealed parchment from his desk drawer. "The warrant, you know what to do with it. How goes the preparations?"

"The men have been briefed, Your Majesty. And they have taken the oath. They will make their way out on the morning of the service."

"How many are there?"

"Four."

"Good. You must remember to speak with the Senior Warden before he leaves. He has additional information on her whereabouts."

"And what if she resists?" The Field Marshall enquired.

"Tell them to do what they must."

"You'll have to be more specific than that," he pressed on.

Alistair frowned. "Do I really need to say it? Fine, I do not care what we do with her. In fact, tell them to kill her if she shows even the_ slightest_ resistance. She is a murderous traitor after all. "

* * *

"If you have come to complain about the noise from this afternoon's shenanigans, I apologize. And I promise that the Templars will be quieter next time." The man in the red robes stood at his doorway. He was young, with green eyes and floppy, sandy hair that hid one side of his forehead. He had an air of arrogance about him.

"Are you the maleficar?" Nathaniel asked.

"Now, now, let's not get accusatory," he said, rolling his eyes. "I am Anders."

"I beg your pardon. My name is Nathaniel Howe. We are in desperate need of your aid."

"Why, has someone stubbed their toe?"

"I have no time to explain. You must see for yourself."

Anders duly obliged, if only out of morbid curiosity. The healer was tending to Solona as they entered the room. Anders recoiled in revulsion at the sight of the twisted, swollen body on the bed. Her skin was sallow and blotchy. Her heavily pregnant belly pulsated with the life that was still inside of it. She was completely naked, having torn her robes off her body. The sheets on which she lay were damp and bloodied. Scratches covered the bed post. She turned to him with blood-red eyes and hissed.

"If there ever was a sight to make me want to kill myself...," Anders started, then stopped as the men glared at him.

He composed himself quickly and studied her face more closely. It was hard to tell in her current state, but she looked vaguely familiar.

"My, it is..._Solona_," he exclaimed, surprised. "From the Circle. It is her, is it not?"

"So you were a Circle mage too," the healer said. Although the two mages had acknowledged each other's presence in the settlement, they had not spoken.

"Once upon a time. But ask me no more of it, elf," he answered snappily.

"Solona," Anders repeated to himself. "So _this_ is what's become of you. What a pity." _Beautiful Solona, all the apprentices were hopelessly in love with you._ He hated to admit it, but he too was taken by her in their younger days. _But you hardly even knew that I existed. _

His skin crawled just from looking at her.

"It is too late. I cannot help her," he said abruptly, turning to Nathaniel.

"What? No, you must. I bid you to try anything," Nathaniel pleaded.

"Your wife and child are destined to die. She is an abomination. She will never recover. All is lost," he said, turning to leave.

Nathaniel grabbed him angrily by the lapels. "She is not my wife, but I love her and she means everything to me. I cannot lose her," he seethed. Then, his face turned sorrowful. "And the Order needs its Commander."

"You are from the Order of the Grey Wardens?" Anders' expression changed to one of renewed interest.

He paused to think, then said, "There _is_ a ritual that I know of, although I make no promises that it will succeed. The risks are great to myself. I will do it, only in return for a favour."

"Speak it, and be quick." Nathaniel's heart swelled with hope.

"You are friendly with the Chantry are you not? I want safe passage throughout Ferelden. Under the orders of the Wardens _and_ the Chantry. I am weary of dealing with the Circle and their damned Templars. Do I have your word?"

"You have my word. It will be done." Nathaniel would have promised him his soul if he had asked.

"Then come, you will need to help me. And you had better be good with that blade or else we are all doomed."


	12. Chapter 12

12. To Cast A Demon

Solona's hands were tied to the sides of the bed but she continued to struggle and kick, howling and spitting angrily at them. Nathaniel held her down forcefully and parted her legs while the healer examined her.

"It won't be long now. We must hasten," he said worriedly. "I can slow it down with a relaxant, but only for a little while."

"Then do that, and cross her legs, or push it back in or whatever else it takes. We need as much time as possible." Nathaniel replied, much to the healers' chagrin. He retracted his hand quickly, narrowly avoiding a nasty bite from her.

Anders had assembled a ramshackle collection of various magic paraphernalia, animal parts, powders and herbs. He was frantically looking for something.

"There seems to be a lot of...everything." Nathaniel pointedly surveyed the chaotic mess on the table in front of them.

"Oh, we won't be using all of it," Anders replied, jumping up as he found a withered root.

"Then what are they for?"

"If you must know, I could not recall the exact reagents needed for the ritual, so I'm just hoping that one of these combinations will work." He held up several vials of foul-looking black fluid to his nose, sniffing them and wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"By the Maker, I hope you know what you are doing," Nathaniel said under his breath, shaking his head.

The maleficar proceeded to paint a symbol on the floor, in front of Solona's bed. It looked like a type of ward. He painted all around her bed.

"So, you are about to become a father. I suppose congratulations will soon be in order, if all goes well," Anders attempted to make idle conversation as Nathaniel watched over his shoulder.

Nathaniel hesitated, then grunted a barely audible reply. "I am not the father."

"How interesting," Anders said, looking up from his work. "So you would happily fornicate with another man's cast-off whilst she still carries his babe?" he asked with mock contempt. "A very beautiful girl she may be, but one such as yourself should have more pride than that," he jeered.

"Do not make me hurt you," Nathaniel seethed, his fists clenched.

"Tell me something I haven't heard."

"Enough talk! We must hurry, the birth is imminent," the healer motioned at them, flustered. "And please do not argue in front of the patient."

"I am ready. Stand behind the spell barriers," Anders ordered.

As the men took to their positions, the maleficar recited an incantation in an archaic language that the others did not recognize. The possessed girl bolted upright, scowling and screaming angrily at them. Anders reached for one of his vials and swallowed, retching as he did so. He took another vial and splashed its contents onto her. She protested violently.

He took a small knife from the folds of his robes and pierced the palm of his hand with it, drawing blood. He continued chanting, seeming to have lapsed into a trance-like state. Solona arched her back violently and let out the most blood-curdling scream. Her arm holds strained to contain her. Her body bent backwards in an impossible contortion, as her whole being slowly lifted into the air above the bed. Blood spewed forth from between her legs, splattering the men.

Nathaniel stared, open-mouthed, as he watched the Demon being cast out of its host. He saw a form emerge from her body. What was at first a fiery red mist slowly reverted to the shape of its demonic origin. A head, torso and finally limbs took form. To his horror he saw that the Demon had no eyes. Its skin glowed red. Sharp fangs hung from its mouth.

"Ready your blade!" Anders shouted.

The Demon leapt from Solona, her body immediately turning limp, crashing heavily onto the bed. It lunged itself at Anders, drawn to him like a moth to a fire. He held himself inside a strong ward, but he had started to falter. The Demon struck out with its teeth and talons, attempting to consume the maleficar.

"Nathaniel, now!" he cried.

Dagger in hand, Nathaniel jumped at it and swung wildly. But the Demon was unscathed. It rammed him in the chest, sending him flying into the wall.

Anders drew more blood from himself. With renewed vigour, he cast a weakening hold on the Demon, then scrambled out of the way. Nathaniel leapt to his feet and caught the Demon by the neck, but recoiled in pain as his hands burned from the Demon's touch.

"Take this!" The healer, who had rushed to Solona's side as she began to stir, threw a small frozen vial at him.

Nathaniel held it in his hand and waited for the Demon to approach again. As it howled loudly at him, he saw his chance and tossed the icy explosive into its mouth. The Demon screamed as its insides froze and shattered with a cracking sound. A dark bolt of energy flew across the room from where Anders stood and sucked the remaining life out of it. The Demon seemed to implode with a cacophony of screams, crumbling to the ground. All that was left of it was a pile of ashes.

Solona felt as if she had just woken up from a terrifying nightmare. She was lying on a bed, unclothed, in a strange room, and her body was weak and cold, but that did not matter right now. The pangs were excruciating and she felt a strong pressure between her legs. _The child is coming now._

"Help me," she groaned. Nathaniel rushed to sit her up whilst the healer held her knees apart. The babe had begun to crown, causing her to wince in pain.

"Bear down!" The healer instructed.

Solona did as she was told and bore down with all her might. But she was naturally tight and the child was a good size, belittling her efforts and making the pain most unbearable. Nathaniel could see that she was struggling.

"Isn't there anything you can do for her?" he asked the healer desperately. The elf just shook his head.

Solona was too tired and wanted nothing more than to just fall back asleep and for the pains to go away, but the babe would not wait. Her lover could do nothing but watch helplessly as she continued to suffer the throes of childbirth. He prayed that it would be over soon.

With Nathaniel urging her on, she gathered her strength and started to bear down again. With a final agonising push, the babe slithered out of her in a torrent of blood and fluids, ripping at her skin and flesh, drenching the sheets beneath her. Solona cried out in agony. It was the most excruciating pain she had ever felt, far more than any of her battle wounds. And she had been in many battles. The healer caught the slimy, wet infant in his hands as she collapsed into Nathaniel's arms, exhausted but relieved.

As she lay on her back, Solona saw a glimpse of her newborn child. The healer was fussing with it as it lay limp at her feet, still attached to her. It looked blue and stillborn. And it had not made a sound.

"Is it alright?" she asked wearily, her voice trembled.

The healer, still tending to the child, said nothing. His silence was terrifying.

Solona looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. Just as she was sure that the worst had happened, the babe let out a yell, much to everyone's relief. Nathaniel was beside himself.

"A healthy boy," the healer announced, gently placing the infant in his mother's arms. Solona wept as she kissed her newborn babe. She saw that he had a soft tuft of fair hair and beautiful deep blue eyes, exactly like hers. He was just perfect. _He is no abomination._

"Oh, what a joyous ending," Anders murmured from the corner of the room, feeling slightly queasy.

* * *

The young maid worked on readying the guest chamber for the night. The King was still reluctant to return to his royal chambers, despite the hard work the servants had put into scrubbing the blood off the walls and floor. There was no question that he grieved badly for his wife. And one's actions and behaviour in time of mourning can often be quite unbecoming of themselves, although understandable.

She picked up a small, ornate handheld mirror that the King had kept on the bedside table. She recognised it as the late Queen's. She admired the pretty jewels imbedded in it and gazed awhile at her reflection in the glass. She felt sadness as she thought about Anora. The Queen had always treated her kindly. The circumstances of her death upset her terribly. She did not hear the door open and close behind her.

"My word, it is remarkable how much you look like her."

Startled, she turned around and saw that it was King Therein. He must have been standing there awhile. She blushed with embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I was just admiring the carvings." She put down the mirror and bowed her head, then added, "I did not mean to disturb her belongings. I know how much she meant to you."

"Don't be sorry," Alistair said. He had not seen her before, not surprisingly, since the younger girls were usually Anora's handmaidens.

"The way you remind me of her...I almost thought I'd seen a ghost," he said, putting his hand underneath her chin. "May I?" he asked.

She nodded. He gazed at her face for an uncomfortably long time. His eyes were sad.

"You are very beautiful. Just like her," his voice quivered with emotion. It was true. She could easily have been mistaken for Anora's younger sister, for she was very pretty indeed, and they shared almost identical features, down to their striking blond locks and slender build.

"What is your name?" he asked, kindly.

"Amelie, Your Majesty."

"A pretty name. Tell me about yourself, Amelie."

"I don't know what it is you wish to hear," she replied nervously.

He sat on the edge of his bed and motioned for her to sit next to him. She obediently complied.

"Are you married? Any children?"

"I have a babe, two years of age. My husband died before she was born," she said, truthfully.

"I am sorry to hear that." He took her hand and kissed it softly. He felt her tremble. His desire for her only became stronger.

"What are you afraid of, Amelie?" he asked, knowing full well the reason.

"I...I don't know," she stammered. Her heart was beating very fast, her palms had become clammy and her throat was dry.

He gazed at her for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her lips. She pulled back slightly, but he held on to her. As his mouth lingered on hers, he felt her body relax a little.

"Did you like that?" he asked, looking at her intently, his hand still on her cheek.

Amelie was hesitant. She had always admired King Therein. He was young and dashing, no doubt. And everyone knew about his brave deeds during the Blight. But he was also a very respectable man and although everyone knew that he had a mistress, he loved the Queen greatly. She had not expected that he would behave this way so soon after her death.

"Yes, very much so," she replied softly. She was not entirely sure why she had said that, but it was true.

"So did I," he said, smiling. "Lay with me."

Before she could protest, he had started to undo her blouse. He kissed her shapely breasts and her stomach, whilst his hands roamed down into her skirt. He unbuttoned it and let it drop to the floor. She soon found herself naked in front of the King. _This was most unexpected._

He took his clothes off as she lay on his bed. He was very aroused by her. And she, by him. She put her lips to his chest and ran her fingers along his fine, strong body. She had not lain with anyone since her husband's death and had almost forgotten how much she had enjoyed it.

"How did you get so beautiful," he said breathlessly, parting her thighs.

He was well-endowed and it pleasured her greatly as their bodies joined together. She stifled a moan as her enjoyment reached its peak, a small shiver running through her body as she did so. Soon, he too was spent.

As he lay asleep, she gathered her clothes and quietly left the chamber.

_Quite unbecoming of the King indeed, but understandable, nonetheless. Soon this will be forgotten, _she thought to herself.

* * *

Solona gradually became aware of the carnage that surrounded her as she cradled her newborn babe, still fresh from her womb. She was disorientated, but the pieces were falling into place. _We failed to reach the Circle, _she realised. She remembered the Demon who had followed her. _I gave in to it, but somehow, I lived._ Then, the Witch who had appeared in her dream. Only it wasn't a dream, but Morrigan's Fade. _She sent the Demon so she could take my child._

She was still extremely weak, and very very tired. The elven healer who had just delivered her babe, busied himself between her legs, tending to her birthing wounds. Nathaniel was by her side, gazing lovingly at her and the child. But the man in the red robes who stood watching over them was..._her blood ran cold. _

"Anders," she spoke, recognising him. Her eyes were fearful. Those at the Circle had spoken only of his evil deeds.

"_Ahem_," he said, shuffling his feet uneasily. _Why, she remembers me after all. But this does not bode well it seems._

"Why have you come?" she asked, tightening her grip on her babe.

"Solona, were it not for him the Demon would have completely consumed you. He saved your life," Nathaniel tried to reassure her.

"Let her be. My only intention was to gain my freedom from the Circle and I hope that you will keep your word, now that I have done my part," Anders replied.

Solona's voice softened. "No, 'twas I who was wrong to assume," she said to him. "I apologise, and you have my gratitude."

"I accept. And I wish you well, Solona. You have a beautiful child, just like his mother," he said as he bent to kiss her forehead. He placed his hand over the newborn's head, withdrawing suddenly when he touched it. "I must leave now."

He hastily made his exit. He could hardly contain himself. He had sensed that something was not right about her child from the very moment he laid eyes on her. Whatever it was, Nathaniel had clearly not seen fit to tell him. And he did not expect Solona to, either. This child was clearly no ordinary being. He was drawn to the child as soon as it was born. The urge to taste his blood was overwhelming, and Anders feared for the harm that he would do to it. _I cannot hurt Solona's child. But I am not strong enough to stop myself. His blood holds more power than I can imagine._

When he was gone, Solona wept. "The Demon was sent by Morrigan. I saw her in her Fade. She came for the child."

Nathaniel put his arms around her. "Then we will do everything we can to stop her. But you need your rest now. You are safe here."

"No, we must leave for the Circle immediately," Solona said, looking up at him with pleading eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

13. A King's Indiscretion

"You're a bumbling idiot who can't tell his elbow from his own arse," Liam raged furiously as he lunged for Geraint, only to crash to the floor as he stumbled over a chair.

"To hell with your pathetic ideals, swine. If it weren't for you this wouldn't 'ave happened," Geraint steadied himself and reached for the empty bottle of mead on the table. He had trouble focussing, seeing that there were two of everything around him.

Liam raised to stand again, his hand reaching for his sword. Only, it wasn't there. _Curses!_ He grabbed a poker which lay by the hearth and struck out with it, its sharp end making contact with Geraint's cheek.

The rogue felt the warm blood on his face. His anger boiled over. He raised the bottle and brought it down on Liam's head with a loud smash. Shards of glass flew about the small room.

Liam groaned. "I will kill you, I swear it," he spat as he picked himself off the floor.

Geraint's grip tightened over the broken bottle still in his hand. "I bid you to try," he sneered.

Liam grabbed the man's throat with his bare hands. Geraint swung the bottle, aiming for his neck.

"Stop it, you drunk fools!" The voice shouted, as the two inebriated men struggled with each other. It was Audoin.

But he was too late. The bottle shard had impaled Liam in the neck. The young man looked at Geraint with wide-opened eyes, stunned, as he staggered backwards, hand on his throat. Blood spurted out of the wound. He fell hard onto the floor. His body shuddered as his life drained away in a dark pool of blood. His eyes remained wide-open.

Audoin ran up to Liam, but the man was clearly dead. Geraint dropped to his knees and pounded his fist the floorboards. Audoin remained impassive.

"You should go. There is nothing for you here. There is no more rebellion. Let us never meet again," he spoke firmly.

Geraint fled from the small room in the tavern. He had to find Leliana, wherever she was. She was his only salvation right now.

* * *

Alistair had been solemn throughout the service. He hated funerals. Especially big, formal ones. Sermons were read, respects were paid and tears were wiped away. _None of these people here knew her like I did,_ he thought angrily. _How dare they pretend to._

The Andrastean Cathedral in Denerim was filled with people he did not even recognise. He craned his neck, looking for a familiar face, but found none. Solona was nowhere to be seen. He had not heard from her since Anora died. His wife lay peacefully in her slate coffin, on a raised platform, displayed for all to ogle at. Her face was perfectly preserved, beautiful and serene, as if asleep. A white burial cloth covered her neck and chest, hiding her desecrated body underneath. Alistair could not bring himself to look at her.

As the Queen was finally laid to rest in the crypt, yet another declamation was to be made by the Grand Cleric of the Chantry. Alistair could take no more and stormed off, much to the displeasure of the attendees.

He soon found what he was looking for. Amelie was alone in the palace pantry. He took her by surprise again.

"I needed to see you," he said, his face most serious. She saw that he had been crying.

"Today has been hard for us all," she said, as she put a comforting hand on his.

He kissed her fingers, as he had often done with Anora, and drew her close to him. Amelie pulled her hand away.

"Please, not right now," she said, looking over her shoulder. Alistair ignored her and kissed her lips. He put his hands beneath her thighs and backed her into a wall.

"Please," she pleaded again, terrified that someone would walk in on them.

Alistair said nothing. He had his fly open. He was breathing heavily. He hitched up her skirt and lifted her slender frame against the wall, forcing himself between her legs. It hurt her. She closed her eyes and prayed for it to be over soon. She had enjoyed their lovemaking the first time, but had no intention of continuing their liaison, knowing full well that such a thing was impermissible and that she would be severely punished by the council, if discovered. The King, on the other hand, did not seem to care. He grunted and heaved his hips against hers with increasing fervour until he finally climaxed.

The cook gasped as she stood in the pantry door, her iron tray crashing loudly onto the stone floor. She had only wanted to fetch some mince pies.

Without saying a word, Alistair stepped away from the servant girl, pulled his trousers up and walked past the traumatised cook as he exited the door. A dishevelled Amelie sank to the floor with her face in her hands, sobbing.

* * *

Arl Eamon was angry with Alistair. About everything. The Darkspawn were still terrorising Amaranthine, the Penryn fiasco had cost them precious troops, the Warden-Commander, who also happened to be the King's mistress, was missing from the Keep. And now _this._

"Are you daft? Your wife is being buried and you run around with the maid?" The vessels on Eamon's forehead throbbed and pulsed. His ears burned red.

"I never asked for this," the King replied, composed. He sat with his feet on his desk.

Eamon just shook his head. "My boy, let us not go through this again. You are the King of Ferelden, well-respected, _still I hope_, and well-loved. A hero. I need not say more."

"Then what do you want of me?"

Eamon sighed. "Just as you are, I am devastated about Anora and the child. I know you loved her dearly, but life goes on."

Alistair said nothing.

"And judging by your behaviour today, it is imperative that you find yourself a new Queen as soon as possible. Marry her, produce an heir," the Arl pontificated. "One of Celene's cousins, a very comely and talented young lady, is nearing eighteen. I am confident that she will make a most suitable wife."

Alistair just raised an eyebrow.

"She is graceful and slender, with beautiful blond hair. She is...how do I say this? Your _type_," he added in earnest.

Alistair did not answer. He calmly took out a blank parchment form his desk drawer and started to write on it.

"What, pray, are you doing?" Eamon asked, clearly irritated.

"I am asking Solona to return. From now on, she no longer commands the Grey Wardens. And she will be back in Denerim by mid-winter, on my strict orders."

"And what then? You will keep away from the chambermaids, I suppose?"

"We will marry. Isn't that what you want?"

"Alistair, we have spoken about this. A King cannot marry a lowly commoner. A mage, at that. It is the law of the lands and the Chantry will never allow it." The Arl of Redcliffe was stern. "Solona will never be Queen."

Alistair silently took out another parchment from the drawer and proceeded to write on it. Eamon slapped his hand down on the desk.

"You are not listening to me." He was very flustered.

"I have listened enough. From now on, the law of the lands will change too. I will be allowed to marry whomever I wish. In fact, I am working on it right now," Alistair said, looking down at the hastily scribbled parchment bearing the royal insignia.

"You cannot possibly do that. The marriage will be voided by the Chantry." Eamon looked at him incredulously.

"Then the Chantry will be voided by the King," Alistair retorted.

"And what in the Maker's name do you mean by that?"

"Simple. I no longer wish to have the Chantry dictate our policies and actions. They may keep their places of worship and blind devotees, but their archaic and restrictive laws will no longer stand in this country."

"You know that is not possible. The Chantry will be up in arms. You are digging your own grave," the Arl shook his head worriedly.

"We shall see about that."

"You are not the boy I once knew," Eamon said with sadness in his voice.

* * *

The first snow of the year had started to fall in the Bannorns and it was bleak. Travelling would be hazardous for such a young child, Nathaniel had reasoned, and decided therefore that it was best for the new mother and her babe to remain in the settlement until they were both stronger. Solona wasn't pleased, but did not wish to argue as she herself was still recovering from the ordeal.

"Lucas," Solona said, gazing lovingly at her newborn as she lay in bed. Almost two days had passed since his birth, before she had finally settled on a name.

"Why Lucas?" Nathaniel queried, curious. The babe beside her started to whimper.

"It was the name of an erudite man who was also a healer. I know him not, for he lived a very long time ago. He wrote a tome, which I recall reading, as a child," she answered.

She picked up the fussing babe and offered him a breast to suck, which he took hungrily. Although slow at first, her milk had started to come freely and plentifully, providing the nourishment her child needed. She was comforted by his soft suckling, which relieved some of the dreadful soreness in her overfilled breasts.

"The language was most unusual, but fascinating. It told of his teacher Yeshua, a man of divine birth, whose father was not unlike the Maker, and how he had tried to save mankind from self-destruction through his words and deeds. He taught of love and forgiveness. In the end, he was betrayed and murdered by his own kin. But he never truly died, for his soul lived forever amongst those who believed in him, promising to save them from an inevitable rapture," she said, then added, "But 'tis only a tale."

"A fine name, nonetheless," Nathaniel concurred. He sat transfixed by the sight of Solona nursing her young child. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He felt strangely aroused.

"Lucas _Howe_ sounds very right," she smiled and turned to him. "After all, _you_ are his father now."

He was taken by surprise. "Solona, why I...I'm very honoured that you should chose to...," his voice cracked with emotion.

He quickly composed himself. "It gladdens me that you see me as such. I will not let you, or Lucas, down. He is just like my own flesh and blood." He kissed her tenderly on her lips. The babe at her breast protested loudly.

The healer appeared at the doorway of the room. "Pardon me for interrupting. I have just heard from Denerim."

He continued, "I'm afraid the Queen has died. It happened five days ago. News can take awhile to reach us."

Solona went pale. "How?" Was all she could manage to ask.

"A murder, I believe. I know nothing more than that," the healer answered.

"Poor Alistair," she said. Nathaniel held her in comforting embrace as she choked back tears._ He must be devastated_, she knew. Her heart ached for his loss. _I wish I were there to console him._

That night, Solona lay next to her sleeping babe. She had spent hours admiring his perfect little face. He was truly a beautiful child, and so serene. He exuded a certain aura about him, which she could only ascribe to the divine soul residing within his tiny being. He had powers, she could sense it. Strong, for a young babe. But she could not say what those powers are until they finally manifest.

_Alistair will never enjoy this precious moment with our child,_ she thought, feeling a great sadness. She knew that deep down, she still loved him. And despite what Morrigan had said, she also loved Nathaniel, although in a different way. Undaunted, he loved her back a great deal. She had to choose between the two, and she had chosen Nathaniel. But now that Anora was gone, she knew that Alistair would pine for her again.

_Will I ever tell him about Lucas?_ _Perhaps, when the time is right._ _But our child will live amongst the Magi_, _such as I did. He will be safe with them. When his abilities manifest, they will be able to guide him as they did with me. _

Nathaniel heard the wolf's howl again that night. _A stray_, he thought. _Unusual that it wanders so close to the settlement. _But it was winter, and the beast was likely starving. He lay next to Solona and her babe, his arms around her, holding her tightly. He drifted into a restless sleep.

He felt the hot breath on his neck and heard its low growl. _The wolf again. I am dreaming,_ Nathaniel thought as he stirred. But it was not a dream. As he opened his eyes, the beasts' face came into focus. Its eyes were a striking golden-yellow, its fur as black as coal. Sharp teeth bared at him. He felt its claws dig into his chest. It was on top of him. Before he could move, the beast took a bite at his neck.

"Get away from me!" he shouted, feeling his own warm blood on his hands as he struggled with the large wolf.

Solona had awoken to the fearsome sight. She grabbed the babe and crossed the room. Focussing what little power she had, she shot a bolt of energy at the creature. Although her magic was still weak, it knocked the wolf off the bed.

Nathaniel sprang to his feet, dagger in hand. He lunged at the beast and struck it in the body. The creature yelped, but leapt at him again, shredding his arm. He buried his dagger deep into the beasts' body once more, drawing much blood. The creature sank away from him and turned on its heels, leaping out the window. In an instant, it was gone. All that was left was a trail of blood.

Nathaniel rushed to Solona and the babe. They were unhurt, although the child was inconsolable.

"Those eyes, I know them," Solona said, feeling a chill down her spine. "We are not safe here."

"We will leave in the morning," he said, hugging her. His hands still shook. "Stay close to me."

* * *

Alistair could wait no longer. He had to see her. _Stubborn as she is, she still loves me._ _And I will show her how much she means to me. _There was no one else that he wanted to be with more right now. _She will agree to marry me, I know._

He knew that she had returned to the Circle Tower. He had gathered as much from her correspondence. It was all he needed. He would see her as soon as he could. But there was something else he needed to do first.

The King had sent for his council. They sat around the table, a feeling of apprehension heavy in the air. Alistair laid a pile of documents in front of them. The men listened as he spoke. The deliberations went on for hours. There was much deference, then plain outrage. A few stormed off, but most ended up staying. Finally, the deed was done. Alistair would get his marriage, and the laws of the lands were turned on its head. The Chantry he would deal with directly. That could wait another day.

At the break of dawn, Alistair set out alone on his horse, a beautiful diamond ring tucked away in his pocket. He rode westward, through the treacherous mountains of Dragon's Peak and over the frigid wastelands of the Bannorns. The arduous journey was made bearable only by the anticipation of seeing his lover again.


	14. Chapter 14

14. Desperate Times

Leliana hurried down the cobblestone streets, gathering her shawl about her shoulders. It was dark and cold, and a damp fog had begun to settle. Her hot breath misted the still air. It was late and she was tired. By now the villagers were mostly asleep, or drunk in the taverns. _My last night in the Borderlands, _she thought to herself. For tomorrow she will journey back to the city of Val Royeaux. She had no intention of playing in the royal courts, but would seek solace with the Chantry as she had done before. _Oh how I miss the city._

Distracted by her thoughts, she did not hear the footsteps that had followed her all the way from the tavern. A man stepped out in front of her as she ran into him.

"Whoa there, lass. You sure are in a hurry," a voice said. She felt his hand on her arm.

Leliana apologised and bent to pick her shawl up. The man held on to her.

"Please, I am just on my way home," she said nervously. She could not see his face or body clearly, noting only that he was wearing light armor.

She tugged at her arm but his grip was strong. She reached for her dagger, but the man was quick and he caught her hand. He swung her around forcefully so that she fell backwards onto him.

"You will come with us," he said calmly, holding her in a vice. His breathed heavily down the back of her neck.

"Let me go!" She screamed. He put his hand over his mouth. She continued to struggle to free herself.

Three more men appeared from the shadows. They wore identical armor. A hand lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing a sharp dagger strapped to her garter.

"This one is armed," one of the men said.

He bent down and reached for her blade. She felt him stroke the inside of her thigh. She kicked him hard in the face, sending him flying to the ground.

"_Filty whore_!" the man swore as his companions laughed. He spat the blood from his mouth. With the back of his hand he slapped her hard across the face. Leliana groaned.

"I think she rather enjoyed it," a voice taunted.

"Please don't...," she cried. It was clear that she was outnumbered. _If I have to beg for my life, so be it._

"She begs for more!"

"I'll give it to her." More laughter.

Leliana was pushed to the ground. A heavy body straddled her. She kicked her legs and screamed again. Another man held her arms down. She felt the front of her dress being ripped.

"Look at the pair of 'em!" Someone wolfwhistled. Cold hands fondled her bare breasts.

The man forced open her legs. Leliana struggled some more, biting and kicking at him, but to no avail. He was inside of her now, thrusting himself violently. His breathing was fast and hard. She cried as he ravaged her on the ground.

When he was spent, another man came at her, then another. She felt her flesh tear. Her body was bruised and battered. She was exhausted and could fight no more. She closed her eyes.

Finally, the men were satisfied. A blade was unsheathed. Leliana felt cold steel against her neck. Then, a sharp pain. Warm blood bathed her body. Hers, she knew. Slowly, everything went quiet as she drifted away.

* * *

The scratching at the door became increasingly urgent. He thought he heard a soft yelp. _A dog? Or wolf cub perhaps?_ The sound suddenly ceased as Anders opened his front door.

On the ground lay a young woman, injured, it seems. _So I help one person and now everyone thinks I'm a healer? What a bloody nuisance._

She made a pained sound. He turned her over and lifted her up. Her body was cold. She was wearing little clothing, if any. There was blood on her. Silky, raven hair hung loosely over her shoulders.

"Well, what do we have here?" he said to himself.

She was barely conscious. He placed her on a table and removed whatever clothing she had left on. He could see that she had at least two wounds on her body. Both cuts were deep and bleeding heavily, but clean. His pulse quickened as he ran his fingers over her bloodied, naked skin. She looked most ravishing. And he was very hungry indeed.

He licked the blood off his fingertips. _This is extraordinarily good._ He savoured every drop.

He cast a healing spell and dressed her wounds. She was stirring. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. He was struck by their colour, a deep golden-yellow. She was stunningly beautiful, in a mysterious and dark way.

"You were obstructing my doorway," Anders said, expressionless.

She did nothing but stare at him with those mesmerising eyes. It made him uneasy.

"Since you do not speak, I will not bother you with questions. If you wish to rest, you can do so on my bed. I will be outside," he said, leaving the bedroom. "Oh, and do not touch my belongings."

_Was she merely another maleficar wandering through the plains? _He pondered._ No, more than that_. There was something much darker, almost sinister about her, and her blood was like nothing he had ever tasted before. He craved for more of it. _My, this has certainly been an exciting week, _he thought as he warmed himself by the fire.

It was daybreak. He stirred, feeling as if he was being watched._ I must have fallen asleep. _He rubbed his eyes.

"You have my thanks, mage," the mysterious woman stood at the doorway. She was unclothed.

"So she speaks," Anders replied with mock surprise. "You have recovered well." He looked at her and was immediately aroused by her nakedness. Her body was almost too perfect in its proportions.

"I commend your healing skills. But I need some clothing, as you can see. You asked me not to touch your things, and I obeyed."

"I much prefer you without," he replied, grinning.

"Yes, I can see that," her eyes flickered briefly towards his groin.

Anders hardly ever felt embarrassed in his life, but he did very much so right now.

"Did you also enjoy the taste of my blood? From the look on your face I should think so," she calmly said.

Anders coughed nervously.

He found a robe eventually and helped her into it, his hand touching hers as he stood behind her. He paused, noting the awkward yet highly sensuous nature of their encounter. Unthinking, he kissed her neck. And she let him.

"I beg your pardon, I got carried away. It has been awhile since a beautiful woman slept naked in my bed," he said almost apologetically. He had a glint in his eye.

She laughed. "I do not mind. It is often that men's desires overtake reasoning."

"Yes, I realise that my desire for you is somewhat...obvious. Do not blame me. Have you seen yourself?"

She smiled sumptuously. "Then it would be rude of me to refuse you, seeing that you have...troubled yourself in aiding me."

"Are you saying that you will let me ravish you?"

"Need I spell it out?"

"No, you have made it very clear," he said. He hesitated briefly, then asked, "This isn't a trap, is it? Because I would feel very foolish if it were so."

"No."

He tore her robe off and pressed his mouth to hers in a feverish kiss. He felt only raw, carnal lust for her. And she was remarkably skilled. Her hands and mouth pleasured his body in such a way he never knew possible. He reciprocated, and from her soft moans, he knew that she was greatly satisfied. He made love to her the floor, with much passion and fervour.

_I could kill him now. But I might just let him live this time_, she thought to herself. _He will come in most useful._

When he was spent, she spoke.

"Am I to be another nameless notch on your bedpost?" she asked coyly.

"Well, I was hoping it wouldn't stop there," he grinned.

"Shall I start with the pleasantries then? I am Morrigan."

* * *

Solona sat astride the horse, in front of Nathaniel. Her babe slept in a simple sling across her chest, kept warm by the heat of her body. Nathaniel took charge of the reins. They had decided that the quickest way to get to the Circle was by horseback. It would be two days' journey from the settlement in the Bannorns, at best. Light snow was falling, which was favourable.

The first day had been uneventful. The steed maintained a steady pace. They stopped often for the horse to rest and for the child to nurse. It also allowed Solona some relief from the riding, for her stitches were still raw and throbbing.

As they camped for the night, Nathaniel seemed tired and drawn. He was shivering. He held his arm against his body.

"Your arm, let me see it," Solona asked, concerned.

He reluctantly removed his gauntlet. Underneath it lay a simple dressing. The skin on his arm had been shredded where the wolf had attacked him the night before. The healer had dressed it soon after, but the wound was now foul and festering.

"A toxin," Solona said, dismayed. "It was not countered beforehand. Why didn't you tell me before we left?"

"It was not as bad as it is now," he answered sheepishly.

Solona tried all the healing spells that she knew of, but none did any good. An antidote was required for this task.

"Stay here with the babe, I will look for some herbs," she said.

"No, Solona, it is not safe out there," he held her back. "I will be fine. We will reach the lake by tomorrow."

"I can protect myself, for much of my strength has returned. I promise to only be gone a short while," she replied reassuringly.

"If you do not return in an hour, I swear I will come looking for you."

Solona hurried through the snow-covered plains. She kept a small fireball hovering in her hand to light the way. The vast wasteland seemed never-ending. Much of the flora here was dead, to Solona's disappointment. Nathaniel would not be happy if she ventured further afield, but she had no choice. _He needn't know, and I shall be quick. _She feared he might not survive another day if the toxin were to spread.

She crossed a wide ridge and finally saw some greenery. It had taken her some time to get there, but it looked hopeful. Ancient ruins lay in decay not far away. _Once they were great temples,_ she knew. She hunted around for the necessary plants. She had a good passing knowledge of potion-making and knew exactly what she needed. And when she finally located them, she was most relieved.

Solona was ready to leave, but could not help noticing a most unusual light emanating from a nearby clearing. _And voices!_

Solona hid from view. She watched as a large group of maleficars stood around a slab in the centre of a stone circle. Most were wearing ceremonial robes. A handful of younger men bore the marks of an apprentice. A young maiden lay on the slab, motionless. The men chanted and read from scriptures. One of them, presumably their leader, approached the girl with a blade. She screamed in terror as he sliced her neck. The men drained the blood from her limp body into a large bowl.

_A blood ritual!_ Solona gasped and fell backwards. Fearing they may have heard her, she fled as fast as she could and did not look back.

Nathaniel had deteriorated. Sweat covered his brow. His skin had turned a dull grey.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," he pointed out unhelpfully.

"Twas just my own shadow," she lied. She busied herself making a pungent concoction, which she filtered into a cup.

"You will be the death of me, Solona. I was so worried," he chided her.

"It is your own obstinacy that will kill you. Drink this," she lowered the cup to his lips.

Nathaniel retched as he imbibed the antidote. He laid his head on her lap as she caressed his hair. Soon, he was fast asleep.

By dawn, his fever had broken. The toxin was gone from his body, much to Solona's relief. They continued their journey, making good progress through the day, finally reaching the lakeside by sundown.

The tower loomed ahead, foreboding in the moonlight. The boatkeeper slowly rowed them ashore, across the glistening water, to the island where the tower stood. The air was still and refreshing.

Wynne greeted them warmly as they stepped through the gates. _She seems much older than I remember_, Solona thought. She had no idea how old Wynne truly was. It was possible that she was as old as the Dalish elf leaders, but it did not matter. Wynne was the wisest person she knew, and she was very fond of her.

"He came rather unexpectedly, whilst we journeyed here," Solona said, feeling as proud as any new mother, while Wynne inspected the child. The babe, no more than a few days old, stirred in its sling.

"A beautiful child indeed," Wynne said. "May I?"

The old mage held him to the light. "My, I can see Alistair in him," she exclaimed. "But he has your eyes."

Nathaniel fidgeted uneasily in the background.

"I feared the worst when you had not arrived earlier." The old mage kissed her forehead. "Welcome home, Solona."

* * *

Solona was greatly comforted by her familiar surroundings, although there were many new faces at the Tower. They were given a spacious chamber in the Senior Mage Quarters, and a night's rest there had done wonders for her. Solona awoke early the next day to seek out the First Enchanter, for they had important matters to discuss.

She was glad to see Irving. The First Enchanter was probably as old as Wynne, and also terribly fond of her. He was the father she never had. His resplendent beard had grown whiter than ever, but those kindly eyes had not aged. His study was as she had always remembered. The walls were lined with stacks of old tomes, ancient maps, an assortment of scrolls and phylacteries.

"Always so beautiful, my Solona," he said, embracing her. "I have yet to see this child Wynne has talked so fondly about."

"You will, soon." Solona smiled. "He is with his father right now."

Irving looked confused for a moment. "You mean your companion, Nathaniel?" he sighed. "You cannot hide this from Alistair forever. He is bound to find out."

"Then I will make sure it doesn't happen. If others were to discover that he is of royal blood, there will be new threats aplenty to worry about." Solona shook her head sadly.

"Surely Alistair would never put his own child in danger. But we will deal with that another time. Our priority is to make sure that the child is safe here," Irving said. "Have you given it much thought?"

"I have. I will remain here with him until his abilities manifest themselves," she said. "It may be a few years, perhaps even more. I do not know."

"We will be glad to have you back with us, for as long as you wish. I believe there is no safer place for a child than at his mother's side."

"And if anything were to happen to me, I would very much like you and Wynne to be his guardians."

"That, we will gladly do."

Without hesitation, she continued. "There is the other matter of Morrigan."

Just as she had said it, Wynne appeared through the door, apologising for her apparent tardiness. She seemed flustered.

"The Templars reported seeing a maleficar by the lake this morning. They did not get to her in time, but had a good look. She fits the description," Wynne said, catching her breath.

"Morrigan?" Irvine raised his brows. "She knows that she risks much by coming here."

Solona put a hand to her mouth. "She followed us! What about Lucas?"

"He is safe, back in your chamber with Nathaniel," Wynne assured her.

Solona sank onto a chair. "Her dark powers are stronger than ever, as I had found in our last encounter. My own magic is no match for hers any longer."

"I cannot agree more with Solona. The fact that she sent a Demon is proof of the evil that she is capable of. Our magic will not stop her completely," Wynne remarked. "Unless we are able to manipulate the dark arts ourselves."

"What do you propose we do?" Irving asked. "We do not practise such sorcery here. And we certainly cannot call upon blood mages to protect the child. They will kill _him_ for his blood."

"No, that would be most unwise. We can have more Templars guard the Tower for a start. I couldn't care less if the magi were not too happy about that. And my wards will keep her Demons away," Wynne offered. "That will buy us time until we can formulate a better plan."

Solona, who had remained silent for some time, knew now exactly what she must do to protect her child. There was only one way to defeat the Witch and it was up to her to see to it. She could not bring herself to tell them of her intentions. Wynne and Irving would never allow it. But there was little else anyone could do to help them. _And these were desperate times._


	15. Chapter 15

15. An Unexpected Visit

Geraint knelt on the soft ground. He ran his fingers through the freshly dug earth. It was cold. Just like his Leliana who lay beneath it. He had been too late. The men had ravaged her and left her to die on the street. He could not save her.

He had gone in search of her that fateful night. He was nervous. He would understand it if she did not want to speak to him. But he would beg her to take him back. When he got there, _she had just left_, they said. _Not long ago_, they had assured him. _Go find her_, they had urged.

He roamed the streets for hours. But it was dark and foggy, and he eventually assumed that she had gone to bed. Then, the horror at dawn, when curious, he approached the crowd that had gathered on the street, and saw her half-naked body just lying there. _Cold and stiff._

He knew who killed her. Witnesses spoke of the four men seen following her from the tavern where she had played that night. They were King Therein's men, they said. He knew, too why they killed her. _It was revenge for what I did._ _And now my only love lies buried._

He had spent many nights thinking about taking a blade to his own throat. But that would be too easy for the King_._ _Leliana's death will be avenged, _he had vowed. He swore to finish what he had failed to do before. _King Therein will feel my wrath again._

_

* * *

_

Alistair looked up at the tower, squinting in the bright sunlight. There it stood, majestic yet malevolent at the same time. He knew she was here. The boatkeep had reluctantly brought him over, after much contention that he was really the King and not an imposter after all. A familiar face greeted him, not hiding her slight displeasure.

"A most unexpected visit, Alistair Therein. I can only imagine that you wish to see her?" Wynne asked, treading carefully.

"I have thought of naught else since Anora died," he lamented.

"I am most sorry for your loss," she bowed her head. "But it is best that I should speak to her first, before you do."

"That is unnecessary," he insisted. "I did not travel all this time only to be turned away. I beg your pardon, but I can wait no longer." He was clearly determined and Wynne knew that she could not talk him out of it.

"Alistair," she said, holding him back as he made his way up the stairs. "Just so you know, Solona is happy here."

Alistair knew where to find her. He was not unfamiliar with the tower, having been here briefly during the Blight. The senior mage quarters were situated high above ground, almost at the very top.

The floor was largely empty and quiet. During the day, the Magi spent their time deep in study in the library and casting chambers. Alistair felt a slight relief. Being surrounded by Magi made him nervous, so he was glad when he encountered no more.

The door to the bedchamber was ajar. He heard a voice. _It is her!_ She was speaking to someone in the room. He hid by the door and looked in.

Solona was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back towards him. _It is definitely her._ He would know her body anywhere. A young, roguish man sat close beside her, their bodies touching. He had his arms over her shoulders. He spoke into her ear, she laughed, and they kissed on the lips. She turned slightly, and he saw that she was nursing a newborn babe.

By all accounts, it was simply an intimate moment between a loving family. To Alistair, it was a scene more horrifying than he could ever imagine. He felt his mouth go dry. A sickness rose from deep within his gut. He stood in stunned silence at the door.

Solona had retired back to her chambers after speaking with Irving and Wynne that morning. Nathaniel had remained with her and the child. She knew that he enjoyed watching her as she suckled her babe. She would allow him those little moments of pleasure.

"Alistair?" Solona's face drained of colour when he saw him standing in the doorway. Nathaniel stood silently by the bed, unmoving.

Alistair collected himself, then spoke as calmly as he could. "I will listen, if you would care to explain."

It was Solona's turn to tremble. "I asked you not to come for me."

"You know that was not possible," he said, his face flushing hot. "Now I wish that I had not."

"I had my reasons to keep this from you," she said. "Least of all because I knew you would react this way."

"Do you even realise how bad this looks to me right now?"

Solona did not answer.

"Who is this man?" he pointed a finger angrily at Nathaniel. "Your lover? The father of your bastard child? Or just another stranger you spread your legs for after he made eyes at you?"

Nathaniel put a comforting hand on Solona's shoulder. "I can speak for myself. I am Nathaniel Howe. Solona and I love each other very much. And yes, the child is mine."

"So you're Rendon's son. I should have guessed. Your father betrayed his King and so have you," Alistair replied spitefully.

"You are wrong. Nathaniel has betrayed no one," Solona vehemently denied, fearing for both of them.

"Do you think me so stupid, woman? It is obvious you conceived long before you left me. Do you dare profess that you never went behind my back with him?"

Solona choked back her tears. The babe started to wail in her arms.

Alistair spat. "As I thought. I see it all clearly now. He got you with child, but you carried on with me as if nothing had happened, running away when you could no longer hide it, so that I would never find out. Everything you have said to me has been naught but a lie."

Solona wept into her hands.

"I rode non-stop for days. I came to ask for your hand in marriage. I wanted nothing more than to have you as my Queen. I loved you, Solona. But now, I feel only loathing when I look at you. You deceived me well and truly," Alistair said, still seething.

"You should leave now," Nathaniel said curtly.

"How _dare _you speak to me in that manner," Alistair scowled, turning to the rogue.

"Then do not force me to say it again."

Alistair reached for his sword.

"Alistair, no!" Solona yelled. She was too late. He had drawn his sword and struck out at Nathaniel.

The rogue ducked, the blade missing him by mere inches. Solona held on to her babe tightly, protecting him with her body.

"You could let me have a fair duel, at the very least," Nathaniel said, calmly removing his dagger from its sheath. He threw it at Alistair, embedding it in his left shoulder.

Alistair flinched. He barely hesitated before lunging powerfully at Nathaniel, throwing him to the ground. He had his hand on the rogues' neck, his blade ready to slice the fallen man's throat. Nathaniel closed his eyes.

"Bid goodbye to your whore and your bastard, now!" Alistair screamed at him. His whole body shook with rage. He looked like a man possessed. His blade drew blood where it touched skin. He was ready to kill.

"Enough!" Solona cried out in panic to Alistair. "Nathaniel is _not_ the father." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "_You_ are."

Alistair's blade clanked as it hit the floor.

* * *

Over at Weisshaupt Fortress, the First Warden knew that the end of his life was near. He was old, not for common folk, but for a Grey Warden. The taint which had coursed through his veins for so long would soon corrupt him, both in mind and in body. He had already begun to weaken physically, and his mind had faltered on several occasions. And so it was imperative that a new leader of the Grey Wardens was appointed. He called for Senior Warden Ranulf.

"Your loyalty has been commendable, Ranulf," the First Warden said as he beckoned him to sit down in his study. "With your help, not only have we reclaimed our mines, but also acquired a valuable ally in King Therein."

Ranulf nodded in an acknowledgement of thanks. He knew where this conversation was headed. He felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. He was an ambitious man, there was no doubt about it. Ever since his joining, he had desired only to rule over the Order as First Warden. But such a notion was seen as ignoble and was particularly frowned upon by the Greys. He had quietly harboured and nurtured it for many years, eventually making his way into the upper echelons of the Warden's dominion in the Anderfels. With the First Warden now dying, the primacy was his for the taking. After all, he was Second-in-Command and considered himself the best strategist of the lot.

The First Warden leaned forwards in his chair. "That is why I believe that you will be a great help to Valorus, when he is appointed First Warden in my place."

To Ranulf, those words were like a slap in the face. _Did I hear him right?_

"He is the most capable Senior Warden here. He will make a fine leader. He has the necessary qualities," the First Warden continued.

Ranulf was too stunned to speak. He nervously fingered the ornate carvings on his sword's hilt.

"You should feel honoured to serve him, as you did with me," the First Warden said. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ranulf cleared his throat. "I am sure that Valorus will make a most...satisfactory First Warden," he answered. He was being generous.

He continued, although his voice now quivered. "But it was my understanding that_ I_ would be appointed. Was it not I who supported and advised you through the troubles? And before that, provided you with wisdom on many matters of concern?"

"Ranulf, I understand that you feel my decision has been unjust. But a man's character dictates the nature of his leadership. One who is pure of heart only, may lead the Wardens," the First Warden said solemnly, looking him directly in the eye. "And we both know that purity of heart is not one of your strong points."

Ranulf felt betrayed. An unstoppable fury overcame him. He stood up from his chair, raising his voice, "Has my service meant nothing to you? Is this how to repay me? By humiliating me!"

"Do not speak to me in such a manner. Your anger has clouded your judgement. You will only be forgiven once."

Ranulf lost it. "Your mind has turned feeble, old man. You do not see that you have made a mistake."

He grabbed the older man roughly by the neck.

"A most _grievous_ mistake," he said with an intense hatred as he tightened his choke on him. The First Warden gasped for breath.

The older man fought to free himself but he was no match for the younger man. They wrestled for a while, but it was not long before the old man had turned purple in the face, his eyes wide with fear and bulging from their sockets, his struggles frenzied at first, but slowly ceasing. Soon, the First Warden lay dead.

Ranulf took some time to compose himself. Slowly but methodically, he wrung a rope around the old man's neck and hung him from a beam in his chamber. He sat at the dead man's desk and calmly wrote on a piece of parchment, signing it with a flourish. His forgery was near flawless.

_In death, sacrifice, _Ranulf uttered to himself.

* * *

Alistair prided himself in his ability to remain calm under the most stressful circumstances. Whether it was at the receiving end of a Hurlock's blade, or being flung twenty feet into the air by a single swipe of a high dragon's tail, he had always kept his wits about him. But this was completely different.

Solona had borne him a son. A secret child he did not know existed, till now. Whose conception had saved his life, yet whose own life was in danger from the very moment of his birth. Whose spirit held an essence so powerful that, if manipulated, could lead to the destruction of life as we know it. Or conversely, its salvation.

Alistair was loss for words as he held their child, a beautiful bond that he and Solona now shared between them, created from their love that was once so strong. She had risked life and limb to bring him safely into this world. At that very moment, Alistair knew that he could never stop loving her and their son.

The babe was small and helpless, and he held him so carefully for fear that he should break him. The child stared back at him, gurgling. Those were Solona's eyes, but everything else was definitely Therein stock.

Solona sat in silence, unable to face him. His words and actions earlier had wounded her deeply too.

"Are you truly happy here?" he asked, finally shattering the unbearable silence. He sounded like a broken man.

"Yes," she replied softly.

He still hurt from her cruel deception, although the reason for her deed was clear. And it pained him greatly that she had refused to let him acknowledge the boy as his own son and heir, let alone raise him as a father should. His firstborn will forever be kept hidden away, not unlike a leper.

"Am I to see my child again?"

"I don't know." She shook her head, her eyes downcast. "But you mustn't return. If others knew he was your son...," she had started to say, but could not finish as the tears came again. The thought of harm befalling her child was too much to bear.

"Do you still love me?"

Solona did not answer but wept silently into her hands.

"Say you love me, Solona," he pressed her. "I know you still feel it."

More silence.

"Say it!" he raised his voice in desperation. He needed to hear those words.

"I do not love you anymore, Alistair," she finally answered without looking at him. It pained her to say it, but she knew it was for the best.

Alistair did not bid them goodbye that night. He just left. Wynne worried about the state of his mind. But at least she needn't bear the burden of deceit any longer. She hoped that he would find peace somehow.


	16. Chapter 16

16. Dawn of the New Wardens

The Wardens had gathered to mourn the passing of their esteemed leader. The old man, knowing that his death beckoned, had taken it upon himself to end his life, so it seemed. It was not an honourable passing for a Grey Warden such as he. But his testament had clearly proclaimed his reason for this. His deteriorating mind, coupled with his strong sense of pride, had forced his hand. There was nothing more to be said.

His testament also proclaimed that a new leader was to be elected immediately upon his death. He had chosen Senior Grey Warden Ranulf, his advisor and long-time associate. Although the choice was obvious, it came as a surprise to the other Senior Wardens, who had heard the old man speak of designating Valorus instead. Nonetheless his wishes were to be respected, and Ranulf was be elevated to the coveted and noble role of First Warden.

"The Grey Wardens will be more formidable than ever," Ranulf promised the men. "My first task as your leader is to expand our army."

"And how so? Recruits do not magically appear out of thin air," Valorus snidely remarked.

"We take over every Order in every country in Thedas. We will appoint our own Warden Commanders. They will lead by our mandate and answer only to us. Why this wasn't done before is beyond me."

"That is very well and good. But do not lose sight of what we are really here for," Valorus countered. "To fight the Darkspawn."

"Yes, but think of what we could achieve as the strongest and most united force in the whole of Thedas." Ranulf's eyes glistened as he spoke.

"We will rid the land of Darkspawn, and that is just the beginning," Ranulf continued. "No one, not even Empress Celene or King Therein, would dare oppose our authority."

_Most of all, you, Valorus. You had better be careful._

_

* * *

_

Morrigan was no more to be seen at Lake Calenhad after that. Wynne had constructed strong spell barriers and wards at every entrance to the tower. Irving had spoken with Knight-Commander Greagoir, whilst being careful not to reveal too much. The Knight-Commander eventually agreed to increase the presence of his Templar forces, with some reluctance on his part.

Greagoir was mistrustful of the girl, ever since he had caught her colluding with that apostate Jowan not so long ago. And now, following her sudden return with a babe in tow, both Irving and Wynne seemed more nervous than ever. To top it off, the incident with King Therein was merely brushed aside as a simple misunderstanding, omitting the fact that Solona and the King had been lovers in the past. _Something reeks, but the magi have refused to say._

He had seen Solona about with her young child, which she was very protective of. She kept mostly to herself, although her Grey Warden lover was sometimes with her. The babe had fair hair and the bluest eyes, looking nothing like the tall, dark man that had apparently fathered him. _It was all getting very suspicious indeed. _

Greagoir called for the young Templar who guarded her chambers. His name was Kieran.

"What do you know about the girl?" Greagoir quizzed him.

"We have spoken only a little. She is very pleasant. But she reveals nothing about herself that we do not already know," he answered truthfully.

"And the child? Anything...untoward?"

"I cannot say that I have noticed. She certainly dotes on him, like any mother."

"I do not trust her. You will report to me anything remotely suspicious about them. Do not take your eyes off her. Follow her if whenever you can, but make it discreet. I want to know what is going on here."

* * *

Many weeks had passed since they arrived at the tower, and Solona felt that it was time for Nathaniel to return to the Keep. As agreed, she would stay with her son for now and Nathaniel would assume her role of Warden Commander. The parting was painful for them, more so for Nathaniel, who had grown to love the child as his own.

"I promise to return as soon as I can," he said as he bid them a tearful farewell.

"Remember, Nathaniel, your obligations remain with the Keep and the Order. We will be safe here, you need not worry," Solona reassured him. "But if you do find yourself longing for me..." She leaned in for a final kiss, whispering in his ear, "...conjugal visits are permitted too."

"I may well take you up on that offer," he said with a smile, embracing her passionately.

As soon as he had gone, Solona went in search of Wynne. She found the senior mage busy chiding a child apprentice who had confused one spell for another. Solona had almost forgotten how stern and ascetic the old mage could be sometimes.

"What part of _rejuvenation _made you think of_ sleep_?" Wynne scolded the baffled boy as he recovered from his error.

"I...I just thought that sleep and rejuvenation seemed to go together...naturally," he stammered. He was still groggy from the effects of slumber.

"Your idiocy would make even a tranquil weep," Wynne said crossly.

"Why, he's learnt his lesson I think," Solona said as she comforted the young lad. "Don't worry, everyone makes mistakes. I've had more than my fair share of them," she smiled kindly at him.

"Really?" his eyes beamed at her. Then he frowned slightly. "Is that why you must hide your baby here? The others say it is so."

Solona was agape. "Be off with you now. And no more questions, or else I'll turn you into a nug!"

Wynne laughed as the boy scuppered away. But she was soon solemn again. "Tis true, Solona. The mages have gossiped. And the Templars, too. They know nothing of course, but the speculations are rife. I have tried to dismiss them as best I could."

"I don't care much for it," Solona sighed. "I trust that you and Irving will keep a weather eye on them," she said, to which Wynne nodded. "But there is something else I wished to tell you."

"I am all ears."

"I am leaving the Tower for a short while. There is something I must do, alone."

"Why, Solona, you've only been here naught a few moons," Wynne said. "May I ask what is it that is so important?"

"Only to visit a friend."

* * *

The Seneschal was glad to have Nathaniel back at Vigils Keep. Although Solona's wisdom and dedication would be sorely missed, it was with great relief that Nathaniel Howe had formally assumed the position of Warden Commander. The men needed a strong leader at this time, more so than ever.

A whole settlement in the Amaranthine outskirts had recently been lost to Darkspawn. Not surprising, apart from the fact that these creatures were quite unlike the usually brute and mindless Genlocks, Hurlocks, Shrieks and Ogres. They were more skilled and intelligent in some ways. And there was more than their fair share of emissaries. The Keep Wardens could do little to defend the villages, having already been thinned by the many upsurges. But there was more worrying news too.

"The new Wardens will be arriving from Anderfels in a few days. The first fifty of them," Seneschal Varel informed Nathaniel as soon as he had settled in.

"That's good, isn't it?" he replied cautiously, sensing that Varel was keeping something from him.

"I am not sure how to put this. There is talk of a new Order hierarchy," Varel sighed. "I do not know the details, but I am afraid that we stand to lose much of our jurisdiction here."

This did not make much sense to Nathaniel, who cared little for politics. "Well, we shall soon see," he said.

Seneschal Varel was right. The new Wardens arrived shortly afterwards, led by Senior Warden Valorus. A new mandate had been established, apparently by the First Warden of Weisshaupt.

"You are not the mage I expected," Valorus said, eyeing Nathaniel.

"She left, attending to personal matters. I have been named the new Commander."

"So you are aware of our new...policies?" he asked.

"Only in as much as you have said in your letters. I do not know why this is any of our concern, we aim only to keep the land safe and rid it of the Darkspawn that never seem to cease appearing."

"I'm afraid it _is_ your concern. I do not like changes myself, but our new leader is trying to fortify our Warden army. In unison, we will only be stronger."

Nathaniel nodded, although still suspicious of his motives.

"You seem a very capable man. I am happy for you to remain as Warden Commander here." Valorus said.

"My men are ready to take on the Darkspawn. You should consider securing the villages first, then raiding any camps left in the area. Investigate as you see appropriate. I suspect there may be more than meets the eye," Valorus offered his advice.

He continued. "There is one more thing. From now on, you no longer take orders from the King. You serve only Weisshaupt."

"I do not take issue with you nor do I care for the King, he is a fool. But the Greys have never taken direct orders from the First Warden. That makes me uncomfortable," Nathaniel professed.

"I did not say you would to like it. Neither do I, but we have sworn to abide by our leader."

Nathaniel said nothing more. He knew that would not be the end of it.


	17. Chapter 17

17. Into the Darkness

Solona left Lake Calenhad with a heavy heart. Lucas had been inconsolable and it pained her to leave him, even if it was for a short while. She wore the standard senior enchanter's attire and hid her face under a hood. The disguise had been necessary, for she knew how Greagoir had looked upon her with suspicion. The last thing she needed was a Templar trailing her.

After a full day's journey on horseback, Solona finally arrived at her destination. The settlement looked much the same as it did before.

She nervously waited at the door. Footsteps approached, and then the door swung open.

"Solona?" The man looked surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you of a favour," she said. "I will beg if I must, but it is important that I speak with you."

"Have you come alone?" he asked warily, to which she nodded. Satisfied that she was telling the truth, he let her in.

Anders had not expected this, albeit it was a pleasant surprise. And he had certainly not expected her to say what she had just asked of him.

"You have lost your mind. I cannot let you do that. Out of the question," he adamantly said.

"Oh? And _you_ see yourself fit to preach to others what is right and wrong?" Solona said with exaggerated annoyance.

"I did not say it was wrong. I merely suggested that it would be too dangerous for you."

"I had no idea you cared about me." There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"I do not," he shot back almost too quickly. "Fine, I will help you because you asked nicely. But once you've become a blood mage there is no turning back."

"I have no intention to."

Anders had cause for worry. Solona had revealed little of her true purpose for wanting to dabble in the forbidden practice of blood magic. It went without saying that this had something to do with her mysterious child. Exactly why, what or how, he did not have a clue. He did not press her about it.

He had secretly acquired various tomes of study during his time at the Circle. All were written in an archaic language, the heavy books filled with scriptures detailing the practice of the Tevinter mage's ancient art. Solona spent many days pouring over them, rehearsing every incantation and verse, committing them to memory.

"The first bloodspill will trigger your desire for more blood. Spare little of your own, but use your foe's liberally," Anders instructed, when he felt that she was ready. "And always carry a knife."

Solona trembled as she held the steel shard to her palm. Anders stood behind her and put his hand on hers, guiding the blade. Their heads touched. He enjoyed the feel of her body pressed against his.

"Let yourself go. Concentrate," he said to her softly. He let her hair brush against his face.

The cold steel pressed hard against her skin. She flinched slightly as the tip dug into her flesh. She closed her eyes. A warm trickle of blood ran down her arm.

"You are breathing too quickly. Slow it down. And say the words in your head. Do not falter," he whispered into her ear.

Solona did as she was told. She felt nothing at first, apart from his breath on her neck. He was holding her in a near embrace, quite unnecessary she thought, but it was surprisingly comforting. Then, she felt it. At first, it was a small stirring in her gut. Her pulse quickened with excitement. It turned into a longing, like hunger, but much stronger. Her heart pounded in her chest. The urge to draw more blood almost overwhelmed her. She gasped and fell back, dropping her blade.

Anders caught her in his arms. "Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

Solona tried to compose herself. "I...yes, I am," she said nervously. "I almost lost control."

"Your powers are strong. It just takes practice and a bit of guidance," he said, looking at her intently. Their faces were almost touching. His mouth wandered close to hers as their cheeks brushed. She felt herself strangely wanting him.

_Beautiful Solona. She certainly looks in better shape than the last time we met_, Anders laughed to himself. _What I would do to see her naked in my bed_. Unable to resist, he took her bleeding hand in his. He gently lifted her fingers to his lips as theirs eyes locked. He kissed her blood. The taste was exhilarating, fuelling his lust. He realised that he had become fully aroused.

"It is late. We will continue tomorrow," he said, feeling suddenly self-conscious, letting go of her. His strong desire for her seemed oddly inappropriate.

"Yes, I think I shall go lie down," she replied quickly, realising that she too had been taken in by the intensity of the moment.

The next day, things were awkward between them. Anders tried his best to remain impassive but as soon as he touched her he became aroused again.

"It is impossible to work like this," he complained. "Why must you be such a temptress?"

"Would you prefer if I did not look at you?" she sighed. She had not even been trying.

"If you wore a bag over your head I would still lust for you."

"I think I can manage without your hand," Solona said determinedly.

She stood as far away from him as possible, blade in hand. She made the first cut, going a little too deep. The bloodlust rose quickly this time, and she found herself fighting an overwhelming urge to strike out at the nearest being. Unfortunately for Anders, he was the only one around. Before she could contain herself, a powerful life-draining bolt shot forth from Solona's hands. He was sent flying into the wall.

"Anders!" she called to him, flabbergasted.

He was dazed but only lightly injured. "Your magic is too powerful, I cannot help you anymore," he said, nursing his bruised head. "I think it's time."

"For what?"

"For your ritual."

* * *

They rode together, deep into the vast plains. The land was dry and arid now that the snow had cleared, leaving the first hint of an early spring. Solona recognised her surroundings - the foreboding ruins of ancient monuments and the unmistakeable sense of malevolence in the air were all too familiar. She was back in the maleficar's playground.

"This is she," Anders said, introducing Solona as the man in ceremonial robes approached them. His head was shaved and he had a deep scar across his face. Solona stood in silence.

The man touched her face. "A skilled mage with the taint of a Warden," he declared, surprised. "But we ask no questions here."

The ritual began soon after. They were not alone. At least four others who wore the robes of an apprentice blood mage and around twenty older maleficars congregated around them in a circle. The man with the scar recited an ancient joining verse. The words sent a chill down her spine.

"Are you afraid?" Anders asked in a whisper. He found himself taking her hand in his.

"A little, but I shall be fine."

"Are you sure you want to do this? It is not too late, yet."

"I am sure," she answered stoically.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Solona weakened at the knees as a young girl, no more than perhaps sixteen years of age, was dragged struggling into the clearing. Her hands and feet were bound. A blood-red robe draped her body. Various symbols were painted on her skin. _They will shed her blood_, Solona knew. She fought a strong urge to rush over to the child and free her from the horrifying ordeal that would soon follow. But it would be the most foolish thing to do, no doubt ending in both their deaths.

The maleficars chanted hypnotically as the girl was placed on a stone pedestal in the centre of the circle. Solona could see the bloodlust in their eyes and faces. It was an evil, terrifying sight. She trembled at the thought of becoming one of them. Doubt crept into her mind again, but she warded it off. _No, I cannot go back now. This is the only way._ She turned away, unable to look.

"There is something I haven't told you," Anders said nervously, his grip on her hand tightening. "The pull...of your child's blood...was very strong."

"What do you mean?" Solona asked, thinking she may have misheard.

"He has something in him, I can tell, although you have not said. I resisted the urge to draw his blood, but only just. I swore I would not harm him. But I fear the same will happen to you."

Before she could answer, another scream shattered the drone of voices. The girl lay dead, her neck slit. Blood poured forth from her body into a bowl. In an instant, the man with the scar drew the same blade and struck Solona in her arm. Her blood splattered his robes.

He thrust the bowl at Solona's face. "Drink."

Solona shook as she held it to her lips. She struggled to stay focussed. What Anders just said had confused her. She was not sure if she had heard him correctly. _Will I be tempted to kill my own child? No, it cannot be. I could never hurt Lucas. _

"Solona, you don't have to do this," Anders said again.

_I have no choice._ She closed her eyes and felt the warm, metallic taste of blood on her tongue. She swallowed. Then, everything went quiet. She felt her body hit the ground. Visions of people and places both familiar and strange appeared before her. Her head spun. She struggled to pull herself up but nothing happened. It was as if she had transcended into another realm. It was a familiar feeling. _I am back in the Fade._

A strong arm pulled her back. There was a flash of light, and she found herself in the plains again. Anders was looking down at her. He held her head in his hands.

"I am sorry I brought you here. You cannot undo this," he said regretfully.

"No, this was exactly what I needed to do." She was still shaking, her face white. Anders slowly carried her away from the group.


	18. Chapter 18

18. The Darkspawn Mystery

Nathaniel was on his knees, inspecting the foul-smelling carcass that lay before him. He recognized the leathery, red skin on the creature. It was definitely that of a Darkspawn. But everything else was nothing like he had ever seen before. This Darkspawn was taller than a Hurlock and almost as tall as an Ogre, only its body was less hulky. It still bore the familiar red, glowing eyes, but its face was longer and slightly more refined. And it had arcane abilities, like a new type Darkspawn emissary.

_A new breed,_ he thought with horror. _But what creature could possibly have been corrupted to become this? _

Ser Caled frowned. "It is certainly no corrupted human, dwarf, elf or Qunari. I am as baffled as you are."

The men had travelled to a coastal settlement in Amaranthine. Ambushed by a group Darkspawn, they successfully defended themselves and killed the beasts, but not without a violent and difficult fight.

"Their magic is stronger too," Nathaniel said, looking down at his mangled sword. He prodded the dead beast's chest with it. Dark, oily blood squirted from its wounds.

There was something else odd about the being that Nathaniel had noticed. It had long, almost elfin-like ears. But these were no shrieks birthed by elven broodmothers.

"We must locate their spawning grounds as soon as possible. I will group the men and draw up the expedition plans. We must also inform King Therein," Ser Caled implored.

"And what can he do? We are better without his meddling. Remember, we serve the First Warden now."

"He is the King of Ferelden, nevertheless."

"As King he has done nothing for us."

"You forget that he was the one who killed the Archdemon."

"Very well, you can write to him yourself. But we will first take the body back to the Keep for study."

* * *

"The resemblance to elves is most uncanny," the scholar said, as he dissected the creature's carcass. "Its ears, long fingers and its bone structure are most elfin-like. Yet, it cannot be."

"And why not?" Nathaniel asked, most curious.

"I cannot say for sure. To start with, they are much taller than shrieks," he held up the creatures arm. Its span was almost twice that of his.

"And they have this," he continued, lifting up the dead beasts' skull flap to reveal a large, repulsive, irregularly shaped grey mass.

"A brain?" Nathaniel said without missing a beat.

"Not_ just_ a brain. But one with a very large appendage attached to it."

"And what does this appendage do?" His averted his eyes from the offensive sight.

"I do not know. But if what you say is true about their intelligence, then this may explain it. It may allow them to develop telekinetic abilities. Perhaps even communicate without words. Or sense things no living creature can."

"Well, no mortal being I know can do all of that, corrupted or not. It must be a fluke. A mutated Darkspawn maybe," Nathaniel reasoned.

"But you say that there were many, in fact dozens of them. All identical."

"Correct."

"Then I believe we have a very big problem on our hands."

* * *

Solona looked over her shoulder as she crept back into the upper chambers of the tower. She was confident that no one had seen her return. Stealth was never one of her better attributes, so she was grateful for the poorly lit hallways and the readiness of the boatkeeper in accepting a pricey bribe.

Lucas slumbered contentedly in his cot, whilst his nursemaid slept nearby. Solona was nervous as she approached him cautiously. _What if Anders is right and I cannot control myself?_

She closed her eyes and put her hand over his small, warm body. He stirred at her touch. She held her breath and waited. Nothing happened. She felt only the overwhelming urge to pick her child up. She breathed a sigh of relief. The babe started to cry as soon as Solona held him. The nursemaid awoke.

"It is only me," she said in hushed tones. "You can take your leave now." The girl complied and left.

Solona tenderly kissed her child, glad to have him in her arms again. She had missed him dearly. Somehow, he did not have the same effect on her as he would with other blood mages. _It makes sense, for I am his mother and we share the same blood, _she reasoned. _I will never leave you again, I promise. And I will be ready for you, Morrigan, when you decide to strike again. _

"The girl, where is she, Irving?" Greagoir demanded to know. It was early in the morning and the men had passed each other in the apprentice quarters.

"I do not know. Perhaps she is in the library. She practically lives down there," The First Enchanter offered an answer.

"I do not appreciate being kept in the dark about this. You asked for more Templars and I provided. But for the safety of all of us I must know what is going on here."

"I am here, Greagoir," Solona spoke as she walked through the door, arms folded. "What is it that you wish of me?"

Greagoir noted that Irving looked genuinely surprised.

"You were gone from the tower for at least a fortnight. You know that you cannot leave without permission, regardless of who you are," the Knight-Commander admonished her.

"I beg your pardon. I was just visiting a close friend. That is all," she answered.

"We cannot allow this to happen again," he said. "Now, unless you or Irving tells me the truth about why you are here in the first place, you will no longer be able to roam freely within the grounds."

"Greagoir, please be reasonable," Irving attempted to pacify the man.

"That is quite alright, Irving," Solona stopped him. "I am here because my child is in danger."

Greagoir looked doubtful.

"It is true. The witch that your men encountered many weeks ago, her name is Morrigan. She is bent on taking Lucas and she will stop at nothing to get her hands on him," Solona continued.

"Why would she do that?" Greagoir asked, still unconvinced.

"I do not know," she replied half truthfully. "His father and I are Grey Wardens, and perhaps she is misled to think that he holds special abilities."

"Your babe's father? I mean no offense, but I do not believe that your dark-haired companion is his father. I am not blind and I know what my eyes tell me."

"Now, Greagoir, aren't we getting a little too personal here? Let the girl be before you embarrass her in front of the others," Irving interjected. "Enough of this talk already."

Solona bit her tongue. She fought the urge to throw a large fireball at the Knight-Commander.

* * *

Following her recent escapade, Kieran, the young Templar, would not leave her side. He would stand over her shoulder as she sat down to read. He would wait by the door as she took her bath. He perked up his ears whenever she spoke to Wynne or Irving. He was the most indiscreet spy she had ever come across. He did however, succeed in making it virtually impossible for her to practice her blood magic.

Solona unbuttoned her blouse and freed a breast for her babe to feed. Kieran shuffled uncomfortably from a few feet away as the child started to suckle noisily. They were in her bedchamber.

"One would think that you were waiting for a treat and a pat on the head," she finally said rather cattishly, after growing weary of his constant presence and her lack of privacy.

"Forgive me but I am merely obeying orders," he said, averting his eyes. "Greagoir will not have it any other way."

But in truth, he could barely take his eyes off her even if he had been ordered to. He would even try to catch a glimpse of her as she bathed or undressed, through the cracks in the door. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"So what are you going to report back to him today? That I ate an egg for breakfast and the babe soiled himself again?" Solona smirked.

Kieran laughed. "Knowing Greagoir, he would want to know exactly what type of egg it was."

"Yes, he has always been that way for as long as I can remember," she said, feeling rather sentimental all of a sudden.

"Have you been here for a long time?" He plucked up the courage to go sit by her side whilst she nursed her babe. Although he had been guarding her for many weeks now, he had been too nervous to talk to her only because he found himself so irresistibly attracted to the beautiful mage.

"Ever since I was five," she replied. "I no longer remember my mother's face." There was much sadness in her voice and she had a faraway look in her eyes.

He tried to think of something nice to say. "You have a mother here. From what I have seen, Wynne treats you like her own daughter."

She smiled at him and he was instantly smitten. He resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her. _Of course it would be inappropriate. What would she think of me? _

Instead, he took her hand to comfort her, but stopped when he noticed the self-inflicted scars on her palm.

"How did you get those?" he asked suddenly, surprised.

Solona drew away quickly. "It was from the ivy," she replied, realising too late that it was hardly an explanation.

Kieran had not needed to ask for he knew instantly what they were. He was shocked. He started to speak, but stopped himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, uncertain of how to react.

"You have become...one of them...haven't you?" he finally said, dismayed.

"It is not what you think," she scrambled, desperately hoping to fix the situation.

"Do not lie to me, I have seen those exact marks on every maleficar!" He paced about the room, head in his hands.

"Please, do not mention...anything of this to anyone," she begged.

"Solona, why did you do it?" Kieran was almost in tears.

"It is too complicated to explain," she said, exasperated. "I did it only to protect myself and Lucas."

"From the witch?"

She nodded. Her eyes pleaded with him.

"You've put me in a very difficult position." He shook his head, clearly upset. He was torn between his sense of duty and his unrequited feelings for her.


	19. Chapter 19

19. Reap What You Sow

Alistair reread the message from the Keep. _So that traitor has been made Warden Commander._ He knew that it was petty of him to be still angry about it, but he could not let go of the fact that he had lost Solona and their child to that man. The fact that unidentified Darkspawn-like beasts had been threatening Amaranthine seemed to bypass him.

There was a knock on the door of his study. It was a palace official. "A visitor to see you, Your Majesty. Says you know her."

"Send her in." Alistair ordered.

The attractive young lady with fair hair was wearing a headscarf and had a long cloak around her shoulders. She seemed unnerved. It took Alistair more than a few seconds for the penny to drop.

"Amelie?" He was surprised to see her. He knew that she had been banished from the palace after their little tryst. He had not expected her to return.

She took off her scarf but said nothing. It stung him that she still looked very much like Anora. Her face was radiant and ever so beautiful. Alistair felt a guilty pang. He tried his best to act formal.

"Look I am very sorry it turned out the way it did. I was hoping that you would approach me again for I am willing to compensate you with enough sovereigns to cover..." he reached for his pockets hastily.

She interrupted him. "I have not come for coin, Alistair." She dropped her cloak. She was wearing a thin, ragged dress underneath. His eyes were immediately drawn to her pregnant belly.

Alistair jumped in his chair and cleared his throat nervously. "Are...are you...?"

"Yes...and it is yours," she answered quietly, looking down to avoid his gaze. "I did not lie with anyone else then, not before nor after."

Alistair put his head in his hands. He knew that she was telling the truth. He could hardly believe his misfortune. _I am my father's son._ _I was born a bastard to a servant girl, just like my own child will be._

Amelie started to weep. "I cannot keep the babe, for my family will disown me. I ask only that you take it off my hands when it is born. No one will need to know."

_So history repeats itself._ _No, I cannot let this happen to any child of mine,_ Alistair thought. He decided to do the unthinkable.

"No, Amelie, I will not do that," he said. He took her arm and touched her face. "We will get married. Please marry me. Be my Queen."

She was stunned. She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "But that is not allowed! I am naught but a servant," she exclaimed, adding, "And we do not love each other..."

"No, it is entirely possible, for the laws have changed. And I do love you. Please say yes. I will look after you and our child, and your other little one too," he begged. He went down on one knee.

Amelie could not believe her ears. The King had lost his mind completely.

* * *

Nathaniel studied his maps carefully. The revelation about the new breed of Darkspawn was most worrying. His men had scoured the region but found no spawning grounds or abandoned passages into the Deep Roads. Villagers who had witnessed the attacks described the creatures as appearing out of thin air, preceded only by a bright flash of light. It was truly bizarre.

Without knowing what exactly they were dealing with, it would be difficult to fight them. Nathaniel had thought long and hard about what the scholar had said. He called upon Ser Caled.

"We must seek out the Dalish elves. I know where they reside. We should leave for the forest as soon as possible."

"Do you really think they can help us?" Ser Caled was sceptical.

"We have no choice but to find out. I fear the new Darkspawn are of elven blood, even if they seem most strange. Who knows what is turning them into these things," Nathaniel said.

"No doubt some evil magic is involved. We should bring reinforcements. I will ready the Wardens."

Nathaniel nodded.

Ser Caled changed the subject. "So have you heard from her recently?"

"Yes, Solona is busy with the affairs of the Circle, but she is well and seems happy there," Nathaniel answered, omitting an obvious fact. Caled never knew about the child. Even if he did, he never once asked.

The Commander and Ser Caled set out with twenty Wardens at sunrise. To get to the Brecilian Forest where the Dalish elves resided, they had to ride south from Amaranthine, across the Drakon River and through the mountainous range of Dragon's Peak. It took them many days.

The Brecilian was a vast forest, most notably home to the Dalish elf clans. For many centuries the Dalish lived and defended their settlements in these ancient woods. Few travellers had dared to venture this deep, least of all because of the various abominations of nature that occupied these parts, including the dreaded werewolf and wild slyvian.

From a cautious distance, Keeper Lanaya watched as the latest group of travel-worn Grey Wardens arrived at their settlement. The Dalish were a guarded lot, and outsiders were often regarded as threats first and foremost. She did not recognize any of them. The tall, dark man, who was obviously their leader, bore the insignia of a Warden Commander. _This must be important_, she thought to herself.

"State your cause," the young elven guard eyed the men with suspicion. She was slight, as all elves were, and wore the familiar markings on her face.

"I wish only to talk. I seek your Keeper. We are the Grey Wardens of Ferelden," Nathaniel answered.

"Mithra, let them through. We have no issue with the Wardens," Lanaya interrupted, appearing suddenly beside the group. She was as slight as the guard, and dressed in robes. A hunting bow was strapped to her back. She had a pretty face with the usual markings that the clans bore, and a slender, toned body. Her movements were quick yet graceful.

"I am the Keeper. Come with me."

The men were led through the camp. Nathaniel had never seen a Dalish settlement before. It was a hive of activity. Makeshift shelters, simple but sturdy, littered the area. There was a tent for the sick and wounded, one for tomes and learning, and even an armory. Elven children played in the clearing. Tall, elegant halla grazed freely, unperturbed.

The elves stopped whatever it was they were doing to stare at the men. It was not often that they had important visitors, let alone a big group such as this. Lanaya's own dwelling was just outside of the main encampment. Nathaniel followed her into her tent.

"Yes, it is a very strange thing," she concurred, after hearing what the Warden Commander had to say. "But we have not had trouble here, in the way that you speak of. Neither have the other Dalish in the forest, or we would have heard."

"Then perhaps I am barking up the wrong tree. But I am still convinced that these creatures were once elven."

"You mentioned that they had special abilities?" she asked.

"It is what we deduced, from studying the bodies. As Darkspawn they seem more intelligent than the others and highly capable of magic. They are taller, more refined."

The Keeper was quiet for a moment. She was deep in thought. A worried look spread across her face. Her voice quivered as she spoke.

"I recall an ancient lore, so old that nothing but only fragments of it remain in the minds of us Keepers. A lore from Elvhenan times, before the Tevinter Imperium. It told of a clan of Elves who were not like us Dalish."

She did not look up but continued speaking softly, "They looked different, spoke a language that no other could understand, and were very clever. They were also tall, taller than all the other elves. They were known as the Mahrai."

Nathaniel was transfixed.

"They stood out because of what they were able to do. They had powers beyond the understanding of the other elves. They were much more...advanced. They created machines that they stronger than themselves, to do their menial tasks for them. It is hard to explain, but it was as if they came from a different realm altogether."

"What happened to them?"

"Over time, the other elves grew suspicious and fearsome of their magic and machines. They were invaded and killed by the Elvhenan horde. The whole clan was obliterated."

"Is it possible that some may have survived to this day?"

"You may as well be asking what lies in the sky above our heads." She shook her head. "According to the lore, they were never to be seen again."

"You must have records of these...Mahrai."

"No. It is only lore, a story I'm afraid."

Nathaniel gathered his thoughts. "Arlathan. What can I find there?" He referred to the ancient elven city that was once the glorious capital of Elvhenan.

"Nothing much, I imagine. Only ruins of course, if they haven't already turned to dust. And wandering maleficars," she shrugged. "I beg your pardon, as I cannot see how I can help you anymore with this."

"No, you have helped a great deal, Keeper," Nathaniel bowed before he left.

* * *

As predicted, the Chantry was extremely unhappy about the King's renunciation of its laws in Ferelden. Such a thing was unheard of in the whole history of the Chantry. It was not a matter to be taken lightly. His actions were a direct insult to the authority of the Andrastean leaders and risked the Chantry losing a good many of its followers. No amount of discourse or arm-wrangling could persuade the King to change his mind. The Chantry elders had urged the Orlesian Grand Cathedral, led by the Divine, to take drastic action. What was to be done about this was yet to be decided.

The Chantry wasn't the only one angry with the King. The nobles of Ferelden took offense to the fact that the King had broken centuries of tradition and protocol to marry a commoner. Not to mention the few eligible noblewomen who had seen their hopes of pairing themselves with the newly widowed King dashed.

The citizens of Ferelden, devotees and non-devotees of Andraste alike, protested at the unsanctimonious nature of the said marriage. The ceremony had not followed the sacred rites of the Chantry, nor had the Grand Cleric given her blessings to them. To make matters worse, the girl in question was clearly no maiden, for she was already heavy with child. And to top it off, she was a spitting image of Queen Anora. Those who especially revered the late Queen were angered by this and considered it a desecration of her memory.

Truth be told, it did not matter that Alistair and Amelie were not married in the eyes of the Maker. They were now lawfully husband and wife by Ferelden decree. And by this decree she would be crowned Queen of Ferelden, whether anyone liked it or not. Alistair had made it so.

The celebrations were kept to a minimum. Only palace officials and a limited number of nobles were invited to witness her coronation as Queen. Whilst this took place, a large and rather unhappy crowd had gathered to vent their anger outside the palace walls.

"It is so sombre in here you would be forgiven to think that someone had just died," Alistair muttered under his breath.

"Much better in here than it is outside. The crowd is baying for her blood," Arl Eamon replied. "Not literally, but they do not hide their feelings."

"They are worthless dregs. I shall have all their heads off."

"They are your people!" The Arl shot a disapproving look at him.

Amelie was quiet and pensive as they lay in bed that night. Their lovemaking had been passionless. She had felt nothing for him. Alistair knew this.

"You will grow to love me, Amelie," he said to her, taking her hand. He could see that she was crying. "I will make you happy. And our child will bring us closer together, you will see," Those words felt like lies to him as he said them.

_What have I done? _Alistair thought to himself. _I do not love her either._

_

* * *

_

"I am afraid the news is bad," the palace official spoke. "Orlais has ceased trade with us."

"Let me guess, the Divine is throwing a hissy fit now," Alistair said without batting an eyelid.

"Yes, and they have good reason to. They know you will not change your mind." He hesitated for a moment. "But there was also talk of your men ravaging and murdering an Orlesian bard," his said, his eyes looking down.

Alistair's face darkened. His eyes were cold. The official had never seen him this way before. He spoke in a deep tone. "She was an assassin. She signed her own death warrant when she killed Anora. I do not wish to discuss this any further."

The official sighed. "Whatever the reason, we must try to fix this. The Chantry is a powerful force to be reckoned with. They have followers in every country in Thedas, not to mention that they are as revered as any ruler in Orlais."

"Their spineless excuse for an empress clearly panders to their every whim. Celene is naught but a puppet. She does not see that they are merely using her," Alistair said, starting to sound angry.

"That may be so, but matters will only get worse for us. Our people are growing angry and restless."

"What do they expect? I do not have a magic wand to cure every ailment," Alistair said dismissively.

"They blame you for all the troubles. Trade in the markets have already declined. Farmers are afraid of returning to their lands because of the Darkspawn. And the Chantry brothers are stirring dissent amongst the people. I fear they may revolt."

Alistair grew silent. He was deep in thought. His eyes were still cold, his face expressionless. Finally he spoke. "Send for the Grand Cleric."

* * *

Geraint had been waiting for this day. It was a suicide mission but he did not care. Twice a year, the King allowed peasants and traders into the throne room, to let them speak their minds. Today was one of them. Minor petitions and petty unresolved disputes over land and trade were usually brought up.

A large crowd of commoners had already gathered inside and outside the palace. They spoke in hushed tones as they waited to be seen by His Majesty. The atmosphere this time was unusually contentious, hostile even. One could cut the tension in the air with a blade. But it was not unexpected, given the recent developments in Ferelden. _All the better for me_, he thought to himself.

There was a heavy presence of the King's guards in the room. At least eight guarded the King, and two stood at the ready in every corner. Three palace officials sat on either side of the throne.

Geraint waited patiently for his turn. He was dressed in peasant's garments. A flat cap covered his brow. He approached when it was time to speak.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, not looking up.

"Introduce yourself and state your reason. Speak clearly," an official directed.

"I am Geraint Lewellyn, of Penryn," he answered. "And I am here regarding personal matters."

Alistair cleared his throat.

Geraint continued, "I lost my parents and my home a long while ago. I grew up an orphaned refugee in Orlais. I would have ended my life on many occasions were it not for my dreams of one day returning to the valleys, to farm the lands, marry and raise a family there."

"Just get to the point," Alistair snapped impatiently.

"I beg your pardon," he replied calmly. "But I can no longer imagine myself returning to the country I love. There is nothing left for those who were once proud landowners and hardworking miners. That dream was taken away when you sent in your men to take our lands."

A palace official cut in. "This is not an appropriate time or place for such a discussion. You must leave now. The guards will show you out." Two guards approached.

"Wait. I will speak to him," Alistair said, turning to the man standing in front of him. "Your hopes of owning your lands again are naught but dreams. You are a fool. If we did not fight on your behalf, Orlais would have taken everything. You would be back to exactly where you started, probably worse off."

"Be it as it may. But you did not have to take the life of the woman I love."

"Bloodshed could not be avoided. It would not have happened were it not for the cowardly rebels who used the villagers for shelter. I tire of this debate." Alistair motioned for the guards to take him out.

"She was not killed for harbouring rebels. She was killed by you because you are a vindictive fool!" Geraint said angrily as the men took him by his shoulders.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the King replied. He spoke to the guards. "Take him away before he regrets it."

Geraint stood steadfastly on his feet. "Leliana's blood is on your hands."

The colour drained from Alistair's face. Deathly silence filled the air. His officials shuffled uneasily in their seats. Finally he spoke, his voice trembling. "She killed Anora. Justice was served."

"You were wrong. She did not kill Anora. I did," Geraint said, a dagger in each hand appearing out of nowhere. He lunged at the King. The guards had little time to react.

Alistair felt the sharp blade enter his chest, just under his left breast. He felt faint as his surroundings blurred, then darkened. It hurt to breathe. He hit the floor hard.

Swords impaled Geraint's body from every angle as the others rushed to aid the fallen King. The floor ran crimson with the rogue's blood._ I have done it, _Geraint thought, as his own life ebbed away.


	20. Chapter 20

20. The Fugitive

Solona was yanked from her bed. It was dark but she could hear the men in her bedchamber. A rough hand forced her onto the cold, hard floor, face down.

"Secure her hands!" It was Greagoir. Someone was straddling her, tying her arms behind her back.

Solona screamed and struggled as the men held her down. A hand slapped her hard in the face. Lucas started crying in his cot.

"Remove the child," Greagoir instructed his men.

"No, please...," she pleaded. "Don't hurt him." She was crying.

"Do not speak, Maleficar!" he barked. "Take her to the dungeons."

Solona was dragged kicking and screaming through the quarters and down the winding staircase. The Templars hauled her through the trellis and into the basement, along the rough stone floor until they reached the dungeons. She was shoved into a small, dark cell, landing hard on her shoulder. The gate slammed behind her with a loud clang of lock and chain against wrought iron.

The dungeon was dark and cold. It was eerily quiet apart from the echoing of footsteps and faint voices in the corridors. She lay on the hard, damp, floor, shivering and crying. She was wearing nothing but a thin nightdress. Her elbows and knees were grazed and bleeding. Her arms were still tied behind her back. _I am truly done for_, she thought.

She must have fallen asleep, for she awoke to find Greagoir staring at her through the bars. She had no idea how long she had been down there.

"Solona, Solona," he said menacingly. "I've finally got you where you belong."

She did not answer.

"I cannot decide if you were being extremely brave to come back, or just plain stupid."

"What have you done with my son?" she demanded to know. She was kneeling on the floor.

"Do not concern yourself with that. He will be dealt with in due time," he said. He unsheathed his sword and proceeded to inspect its blade. It glinted in the dim light.

Solona clenched her fists and struggled in vain to free her arms.

"Do you know what happens to mages like you?" he taunted her.

"I wish to speak with Wynne and Irving," she said angrily.

"Oh? I'm afraid that won't happen. The thing is, they have no idea where you are. As far as they know, you've done another disappearing act."

"I meant no harm to anyone. Please let me go. I wish only to be with my son." Her tone was pleading now.

Greagoir bent down, reached through the bars of her cell and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. He held his blade to her neck.

"You are a filthy Maleficar! You will die by my sword, no exception," he spat angrily. With the tip of his blade, he carved a shallow crescent on the base of her neck. Solona felt the warm blood on her skin. The now-familiar urge to kill had begun to stir in her.

He sensed this.

"Try anything and I will kill your babe too," he threatened, the blade pressing deeper into her skin. He slit her dress at the front, exposing a bare breast.

Solona held herself back, breathing heavily. She dared not make a move.

"Let go of her!" A voice bellowed from the darkness. Just as Greagoir turned around, the pommel of a sword came crashing down onto his face.

The Knight-Commander lay dazed on the floor as Kieran stood over him, shaking.

"Why, you...traitorous bastard!" Greagoir yelled, staggering to his feet. He swung his sword at the young Templar. Kieran tried to parry, but stumbled, his eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness.

Solona heard a groan as the young man fell heavily onto the floor. Greagoir stood over him, his sword raised and poised to strike.

"Stop!" She screamed, but Greagoir took no notice. He swung his sword downwards, tearing into the man's flesh. Kieran wrestled with the blade.

_You give me no choice._ Solona closed her eyes and freed her mind, releasing her forbidden powers. She heard Greagoir scream as his blood boiled in his veins. Her holds snapped as dark energy surged vigorously through her body.

Solona reached for Greagoir's keys and freed herself from the cell. The Knight-Commander's body was a mangled mess, unrecognizable almost. Kieran lay slumped on the floor, bleeding heavily. She cradled his head in her lap.

"I...I'm so sorry, Solona," he said softly. "It was my entire fault for telling. But he promised not to harm you."

"Your wounds...I will get Wynne. Hold on," she said, taking his hand.

The sound of shouting and footsteps rang down the dimly lit corridors.

"No, the others are coming. You must go!" Kieran urged, his eyes filled with fear. "Please, they will kill you."

Solona hesitated, but finally fled as the Templars drew closer.

* * *

Sunlight bounced off the lake's surface, blinding her temporarily. It was bright outside. _Midday_, she knew. Solona had reached the water's edge. The voices and shouting behind her had grown fainter at first, but now they seemed to have neared again. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the Templars found her.

_I must get to Lucas,_ she thought to herself. _But how? The Tower is surrounded._ She felt helpless and so afraid.

A rustling noise came from behind. Solona turned quickly, ready to strike.

"Tis only me, Solona," Wynne said in hushed tones. The old mage looked fearful.

"Wynne, I can explain," Solona said, trembling.

"No, you did what you had to do. Just take this and listen to me," she said, handing her a small onyx ring. "I have enchanted it. It will glow amber whenever Lucas is in danger. Wear it always, so you can be there for him if need be."

"Please let me see him," Solona begged tearfully.

"Solona, there is no time. The Templars will kill you on sight." She hugged her tightly. "I will keep him safe. Run, my child, hurry."

* * *

The rogue's blade had penetrated deep into Alistair's chest. By a stroke of miraculous luck, it had just missed his heart. After lying at death's door for days, the King was finally showing signs of recovery.

Arl Eamon was relieved that Alistair had survived the attempt on his life, but he could not help feeling more concerned about him every day. The King chose to spend much of his time alone in convalescence. He had ceased to talk about Solona. He would not say what had become of her. And since the attack, his temperament had changed too. He was no longer the cheerful, relaxed young man he once was. Something had turned inside of him.

The Grand Cleric of Ferelden was in a foul mood. He knew that his meeting with the King was not going to end well.

"Your Chantry brothers are creating dissonance amongst my people," Alistair complained bitterly.

"What do you expect? For someone who was a fosterling in the Chantry, you have naught but treated us with injustice and disrespect."

"I did not choose to go into the Chantry. It was forced onto me. In fact, that was my biggest regret of my life, apart from being born a royal bastard."

"I demand you return us the right to administer our laws," the Grand Cleric said, slamming his fist on the desk.

"That will not happen."

"Then you will sorely regret it," he threatened. "The Divine will take drastic recourse."

"Are you threatening me?" Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"How dare you act so belligerently!" the Cleric exclaimed, incensed.

"I see."

Alistair started writing on a parchment. He knew that this would provoke the Cleric even more so.

"From now on, the Chantry will be prohibited in the whole of Ferelden. All members, including the elders, will be asked to leave the country, or cease practising immediately. Or else risk prosecution."

"You cannot be serious!" The Cleric said incredulously, almost certain that he had misheard.

"I am. This meeting is over."

* * *

"An interesting development indeed," Ranulf said as he contemplated the fragile situation in Ferelden. The First Warden had thrived in his role as leader of the Grey Army. For the first time in history, the Grey Wardens were united under a single authority.

"King Therein is a loose cannon," he continued. "I see an opportunity for us."

"How so?" Valorus enquired, suspicious yet curious of the man's intentions.

"He rules with his heart, not his head. His people have been harmed by this. Sooner or later, they will turn against him."

"What are you suggesting here?"

"When they finally become desperate, they will look to a new leader. We must show them that the Grey Wardens are their only hope of salvation."

"Are you saying that we should overthrow King Therein?" Valorus was shocked.

"The people will decide this for themselves. At least, they will _think_ it was so. We will merely lead them in the right direction."

"Ferelden is an ally of Anderfels. We cannot disregard that."

"We were never true allies, but a coalition only, for the sake of the rebellion. One should be able to distinguish between the two," Ranulf answered confidently.

"Does your ambition know no bounds?"

"Ferelden will be a _Republic_. Led by us," the First Warden continued.

"I cannot believe what I am hearing."

Ranulf ignored him. He was feeling immensely proud of himself. "Get my horses ready. It is time to see the Keep."


	21. Chapter 21

21. Losing Your Soul

Solona was weary from running, and distraught at being apart from her child. She had returned to the settlement in the Bannorns. She hoped that he could help her. But she sensed that something was not right. Anders seemed nervous and distracted.

"If it troubles you that I am being hunted by the Templars, I will not stay," Solona said.

"No, it is not that," he said, still edgy.

"Then what is the matter?" She asked. He was acting very strangely. She noticed that he kept looking over his shoulder, even though they were in his home.

"Your child...you never told me he was...," he had started to say, but his voice faltered.

"Anders, just say what is on your mind."

"You cannot protect him forever," he finally replied, cryptically.

"What do you mean? Why are you telling me this?"

"I...I am very sorry Solona," he looked at her, his eyes sorrowful. His gaze shifted to something behind her.

Solona turned around in puzzlement. Her blood immediately ran cold.

"So, you have been cast out of your home, I see." Those golden-yellow eyes were unmistakeable. "Poor little lost girl. No home, no kin."

"Morrigan!" Solona gasped. She raised herself from the chair. "How dare you return."

"I am tempted to ask you that myself."

Solona glared at her. "You have been following me!" She reached for her blade, hidden in her robes. She was ready.

"I did not follow you. You walked right into my trap."

"You knew that I would come here!"

"Alas, I did indeed." Morrigan agreed. "Anders here has been a great help, haven't you my love?" she said, looking fondly at him.

"I...I...wish to have no more part in this," he stammered pathetically, backing away.

"You are with Morrigan? You betrayed me!" Solona turned to Anders, dismayed. "She uses you like a tool, you do not see it."

"Enough talk. I will do to you what I should have done a long time ago," Morrigan said.

"You cannot kill me with your magic, nor can you send your Demons," Solona retorted, taking her blade to her hand. She made a deep cut, immediately feeling her powers surge.

"No, but I have other means of ridding this world of you. And once you are gone, you can no longer be a hindrance to me."

Morrigan raised her arms and said a verse under her breath. A dark, misty swirl quickly enveloped Solona, lifting her off the ground. Something was pulling at her, tugging hard from deep within her being. She fought to repel Morrigan's magic. Her face contorted in pain.

"It is agonising isn't it, Solona, _to lose your soul_," Morrigan cackled.

"Morrigan! You said that you only wanted the child!" Anders interrupted her evil ritual, suddenly horrified at what she was attempting to do.

"You will stay away, if you know what is best for you," The witch snapped at him. She held an empty glass phylactery in her hand. She began to direct the dark fog into the receptacle.

Solona continued to resist. She gripped the edge of steel blade tightly, drawing on more blood. With renewed vigour she lashed out at Morrigan with an entropy spell, draining mana from the Witch.

"Quite a fighter, aren't you?" Morrigan said, as she regained her composure. "But soon, I will have your soul in the palm my hand." She laughed again. The dark fog thickened around Solona.

Solona felt as if her body was being ripped apart. But she held on to her strength._ You will not defeat me._

"I will make you suffer the mortal pain that you inflict on others," Solona said with scorn, retaliating at the witch with a strong burst of dark magic. Blood began to seep out of Morrigan's nose, mouth and ears causing her to scream in agony.

Solona drew Morrigans' blood into her own veins. She shivered, feeling its vile taste in her mouth.

The witch had crumpled onto the floor. But she was not done yet. She recited another haunting verse as the empty phylactery started to fill with the dark mist. Solona was crippled by a further onslaught of pain.

Solona's cries pierced the night sky. Anders could bear it no longer. "Enough!" He leapt at the witch and snatched the phylactery away from her. "Can't you women just try to get along?"

"You fool! The ritual was almost complete!" Morrigan, incensed, threw him to the ground with a burst of energy.

The dark fog jumped from Solona and entered Anders' body. He was unable to resist it, allowing it to overtake him quickly.

The last thing he heard was his own agonised screams, before his soul entered the phylactery in his hands. Soon, his empty body lay cold and lifeless on the floor.

"Bah! I should have known better than to use a bumbling idiot like him. We are not done yet, I promise you," Morrigan said, fleeing out the door.

Solona picked up the now-filled phylactery. A dark vapour swirled inside it. _Oh Anders, what have you done to yourself?_

Without a vessel, he would be trapped forever in that vial.

* * *

Nathaniel and his men were back at the Keep. Following his conversation with the Dalish Keeper, he was convinced that they had finally found a clue to the origins of the mysterious new Darkspawn. But he knew too, that they had barely scratched the surface. He had a plan.

"We must go to Arlathan," he said to Ser Caled.

"I hope you do realise that the city does not exist anymore, and haven't been for a millennia or so."

"How funny you are. But it is our only lead, Caled. I do not know even know what we are to look for in its ruins, just anything that will help us figure this out. "

"Very well, once the men have returned from their camps I will make the arrangements."

Nathaniel retired early that evening. As he lay in his bed, worries about the Darkspawn weighed heavily on his mind. _What if this is the Blight all over again?_ _It is too soon, but not impossible. We are in no condition to deal with another one ourselves. Perhaps uniting the Grey Wardens wasn't such a bad idea after all. _

"Nathaniel?" A familiar, gentle voice called out to him.

_I must be dreaming, it cannot be her._ He opened his eyes and saw Solona standing over him. It was no apparition.

"Maker! Solona, what are you doing here?" He bolted upright. He was clothed only in the bedsheets.

"Please, keep your voice down," she hushed him. "No one must know I am here."

"Are you hurt? Where is Lucas?"

She looked tired and drained, as if she had been travelling for weeks. Her robes were worn and unwashed, her skin bruised and grazed.

"He is safe at the Tower. I had to run away," she sighed. "Something happened...I cannot go back."

"What happened?" he asked worriedly. "Please tell me."

She looked away, tears in her eyes. "I killed Greagoir. He threatened to harm us. I had no choice," she whispered softly.

"Oh my Solona!" he embraced her tightly. "What are we to do?"

"They will not find me, if I can help it."

"You are safe here, I will make sure of it." He kissed her deeply, feeling a heady rush. "I have missed you terribly. I thought about you every day," he said, caressing her face.

"And I came here to see you again." She kissed him back.

"Stay here with me for now, Solona. The men will help me protect you, and they will be glad to have you back. I will resolve this with the Templars, I promise, and you will see Lucas soon," he said as he held her close to him.

At that moment, Solona felt as if all her worries had just melted away. She warmed at his touch, feeling his strapping body against hers. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to have him inside of her again. This was matched by his desire for her. His urges had only grown stronger the longer they had been apart, and now threatened to boil over too quickly. He hoped that he could on hold long enough to pleasure her.

"I will never tire of your body," he sighed, showering her with kisses and caresses as they lay naked on his bed. She could feel his hardness, hot against her skin. His hands wandered between her legs while he softly sucked on her nipples. She playfully squeezed him with her thighs. He was almost panting with excitement.

"I have never seen you so desirous before," she smiled. "Apart from when we made love for the first time."

"I still dream about that," he said. "Chancing upon you, all alone by the lake, naked and so beautiful. I knew you had wanted me, but would not show it."

"It wasn't chance. You were spying on me," she reminded him. "And I was vulnerable in my condition."

"Vulnerable, yet so willing," he grinned. He parted her thighs and lifted himself on top of her. She moaned softly as she felt him enter between her legs, her flesh stretching to accommodate his girth. The pleasure was almost ungodly. It did not take him long to climax.

Solona cried as they lay in each other's arms afterwards. She was gazing at Wynne's onyx ring. It was a jet-black colour.

"You miss Lucas," Nathaniel said, gently stroking her hair.

"If only you could see him now. He has grown so fast and is such a beautiful child," she smiled, wiping away her tears.

"He is lucky to have you as his mother," he said, nuzzling her neck.

Nathaniel awoke the next morning to find that she was gone. She left not a trace. _She could not have gone back to the Tower_, he knew. But where she was headed to was anyone's guess. His heart ached for her all over again.

* * *

Conditions in Ferelden continued to worsen. The King's decision to ban the Chantry and their Andrasteans worshippers shocked the country. Arl Eamon could scarcely believe how things had been allowed to spiral out of control. Their cold war with Orlais and the Chantry must be put to an end.

"There is much talk of a revolt," the arl said fearfully as he sat across from Alistair in his study.

"I am not concerned. Anyone found guilty of planning or inciting such a thing will be severely punished. My men are all over the city. They will see to it."

"Alistair! Do you still not see it?" Eamon asked in dismay.

The King remained silent.

"You haven't taken any advice, neither from me nor your council. In fact, you dismiss anyone who disagrees with you."

"Your point being...?"

"You are ruining the country!" Eamon exclaimed, exasperated.

"You think so? What about Cailan? He ruined it first by feeding Loghaine, then letting him bite his hand."

"There is no point in bringing that up now. We can still turn things around."

"I do not wish to turn anything around. The people are better off without the Chantry. We have our own laws here. And we should stop relying on Orlais for trade. There are many other countries we can trade with."

"You do not see that your own people are turning against you."

"They will eventually realise that I am right. Besides, what are they going to do? Send another assassin at me? Take down the palace? I have more armed guards and troops than all the Keeps in the whole country. They have nothing to fight me with."

"You are naught but a bitter shadow of what you used to be," Eamon shook his head.

"Then it's too bad that I am King and you are not."


	22. Chapter 22

22. To Antiva and Beyond

Solona had felt in her veins. The moment she drew Morrigan's blood into her own body, the evil that lurked within the witch seemed to call out to her. It was not unlike the Darkspawn taint in her blood. She did not know what it was at first, but as she lay asleep at night, the witch would come to her in her dreams. In her recurring visions, she saw Morrigan surrounded by a horde of vile creatures. And when she awoke, she could still sense her. She was getting farther away. _But I know where she is headed._

Nathaniel was asleep next to looked so peaceful, his face handsome and strong. She looked at her ring again. It remained a dull black. _I am sorry, my love. I cannot risk you following me. At least Lucas will still have a father. _Before dawn, she slipped away from Vigil's Keep.

It was another day before she arrived at the Amaranthine coast. She had sold her steed, taken from the Keep. The port was quiet, only few ships were docked. Sailors and ship mates were milling about, waiting to be called to sea. An Antivan merchant vessel was being made ready for sail. Solona had a few sovereigns left, her last. The ship's quarter master eyed her lasciviously before taking her coin.

The ship set sail at sundown. Solona stood on the deck, enjoying the smell and feel of cool, salty air on her face. The sea was calm, the night clear and starry. The sky was a deep blue colour where it met the water's surface. Moonlight glistened off the shallow waves.

Solona wiped away a tear as she thought of her child, longing only to hold him once more in her arms. Her painfully swollen breasts, engorged and leaking, ached to be suckled. She shivered as a chilly wind whipped the sides of the ship. She pulled her shawl tightly over her shoulders to keep warm.

"A breathtaking sight," a man's voice said with a thick Antivan accent.

"Yes, it is. I wish the nights were always this beautiful," Solona replied, gazing at the horizon. Her long, windswept hair caressed her face.

"I did not mean the scenery."

She spun around. Her eyes widened in surprise as she recognised her old friend.

"Fate has clearly brought us together on my ship," Zevran said, grinning from ear to ear. The Antivan elf stood resplendent in a gold and leather outfit. They embraced warmly. He smelled fragrantly of perfume.

"_Your _ship?"

"Have you not noticed? Your observational skills are abysmal." He pointed to the wooden masthead. It was a life-sized figure of a strapping male elf with long locks and very little clothing.

"The resemblance is...uncanny, Captain," Solona said, trying to be complimentary. "But why does it wear a codpiece?"

"It is not a codpiece."

They spent the rest of the evening catching up with each other, although it mainly revolved around Zevran's recent adventures. He revealed how he had acquired a generous amount of bandit loot, having single-handedly taken out a particularly prominent gang in Antiva. With the gold, he had bought this ship, ferrying all kinds of exotic goods between Antiva and Ferelden.

Solona did not know which part of his story, if any, was true. With Zevran, you could never really tell. Nonetheless she enjoyed the company of a familiar face.

"You have been very quiet, Solona. You could at least tell me why you are headed to Antiva," he pried. They sat around a small table in the galley, enjoying a bottle of vintage Antivan wine.

"Personal business, if you will," she said.

"Ah, I see. Does it involve a man?"

Solona laughed. "It is nothing like that. I am...looking for someone. There are some unfinished matters that need dealing with."

She was obviously being very guarded. This made him even more curious.

"May I be so bold as to ask if you and Alistair are...you know, still making the wild beast with two backs?"

"What?" She spluttered.

"Well, are you or are you not still lovers?"

Solona sighed. "No, I'm afraid not. It is a long story."

"Ah. Perhaps he could not satisfy your veracious appetite, no?"

"Zevran!"

"Fine. I was only going to suggest that we ravish each other to exhaustion tonight, seeing that you are probably craving for...a good cut of meat," he winked. "If you prefer to remain celibate, I will not take offense, but it is your loss."

"You have not changed one bit," she said.

* * *

The morning was hot and humid, and the sea rougher. Solona could see land mass in the distance as they sailed northward along the Antivan coastline. It would still take them a few more days to reach the port of Antiva City, she knew. The rhythmic rocking of the ship had made her a little queasy.

Zevran was on the top deck, eyeing the horizon through a sextant. He looked worried.

"A small vessel, northeast of here, is moving quickly towards us. I cannot say for sure, but they may be sea bandits, common in these parts."

The cabin boy, a young, freckled lad with a crop of bright red hair, sent word to the others on board. Weapons were at the ready in no time.

The lone vessel was moving erratically.

"Curious, they do not seem to be hostile," Zevran frowned, squinting at the ship as it approached them.

Solona put her eye to the eyepiece. The crew were frantically waving at them.

"They look to be in some difficulty," she said, puzzled. "And they may be trying to tell us something."

They craned their necks, but could only hear the loud crashing of waves on the ship's hull. Zevran hurried to the ship's bow to take a closer look. Solona saw his face turn fearful.

"What is it?" she shouted over the noise.

"Get in the hold, now!" he barked, running back towards her. His eyes were wide with terror.

A gigantic wave appeared out of nowhere, like a grey and white frothy wall, engulfing the smaller vessel. Their ship rocked precariously onto its side. The cloth sail flapped in the wind, snapped from its binds. Solona lost her footing and took a tumble. Zevran caught her arm as she started to slide towards the water.

As he helped her scramble to her feet, a large, scaly tail was thrust hard onto the ship, breaking the bow. It was as wide as three men and at least half as long as the ship. The tail sank back into the water as more waves crashed down on the exposed hull. Splinters of wood fly about their heads.

_A sea serpent! _Solona realised.

"Hold on to me!" Zevran shouted, grabbing her by the waist. With his other hand he gripped a rope, loose on one end but bound to the ship's mast on the other. It wasn't long before the serpent attacked again. Its tail whipped the mast this time, snapping it in half. A deck hand held a spear to it, but faltered in terror. Solona hung on to Zevran for dear life. The ship continued to rock sideways as water began to fill it. The front of the ship had started to sink.

"Take this," he instructed her, handing her the loose end of his rope.

"Where are you going?"

"To the stern," he shouted. "I can take the serpent out."

"That's too dangerous!" She protested.

Ignoring her warning, he scrambled towards the back of the ship.

Another gigantic wave crashed over her, her lungs filling with water. As Solona coughed and spluttered, she saw the creature raised its head above the water. It had a longish face and beak, not unlike that of a dragon. Its eyes were fiery red. Its scales a silvery grey, glistening with rainbow colours in the sunlight. In a blink of an eye, Zevran had leapt from the upturned stern and onto the monster's head. He had a dagger in his hand.

"Zevran!" Solona shouted.

The serpent frantically tried to shake him off. Zevran aimed for his eye, but missed. He lost his footing, but still clung on with his hands.

Solona tied the rope to her waist and scrambled onto the now horizontal broken mast. She aimed a bolt of energy at the creature, wounding it. The serpent, angered further, started flailing about, flinging Zevran into the water.

"No!" Solona screamed as he disappeared under the sea.

The ship was sinking fast. The rest of the crew had either jumped or fallen overboard. Solona stood her ground, although she was up to her waist in water. As the serpent revealed its head again, she discharged a powerful blast of electricity, stunning the creature and spreading a large current through its body. Its silvery scales sizzled and crackled from the blast. It shuddered and heaved in the water, before finally crashing into the seabed.

Solona struggled to untie herself from the rope at her waist as it pulled her down with the ship. Alas, she could not and before long, she too, went under.

* * *

Nathaniel solemnly contemplated the letter from the Imperial Palace of Orlais. It was signed by Empress Celene herself and counter-signed by the Divine of the Grand Cathedral. _This is most serious._ The Grey Wardens had never interfered with the politics of Ferelden, and it would be madness to do so now. But the tone of the letter was firm and decisive. _Reclaim the throne from the King of Ferelden or else face an invasion from Orlais._

The First Warden had arrived at Vigil's Keep to inspect the progress of the newly-rebuilt Order. There had not been a visitor more important than one such as him for a long while. Nathaniel could not help but feel that his visit was more than a coincidence in light of the recent ultimatum from Orlais.

"Are we to do the bidding of the Divine and the Empress now? Orlais cannot threaten Ferelden. We have a peace treaty with them," Nathaniel frowned.

"The peace treaty was broken as soon as King Therein killed that Orlesian bard," Ranulf informed the Commander. Coming from him, it was a rather ironic statement. The First Warden was careful not to mention his own role in Leliana's death, of course.

"And what about the assassin? Was it not their doing?" Nathaniel challenged.

"There is no proof of that. As far as they are concerned, he was just a rogue with a personal vendetta."

"And you are backing all this?"

Ranulf sighed. "Alistair has shown himself to be naught but a weak-minded and feeble King. The country is in shambles. Orlais and the Chantry are threatening war. Your countrymen are desperate for a revolution, but are in no position to fight. They cry for a new leader. We have a responsibility to do what is best for Ferelden."

The Warden-Commander could not argue with that. He was not fond of the King either. Least of all because of Alistair had been Solona's lover and was the father of her child. Try as he might, he could not cast out his fear that he would one day snatch them away from him, for he knew that the King still loved her greatly. And although he never showed it, his disdain for Alistair had slowly grown into utter hatred since the King had very nearly killed him at the Tower. Personal reasons aside, it was undeniable that if the country was left to ruin, so will his Order.

Nathaniel contemplated long and hard. He had made up his mind. The Darkspawn will have to wait for now. The King will pay his dues.

_Everything is falling into place, like pieces on a chessboard_, Ranulf thought to himself, smiling.


	23. Chapter 23

23. End of Days

Amelie's pained cries resonated from her bedchamber. The midwives had been summoned many hours ago, but still there was no sign of the babe. Two healers had come and gone. The palace staff waited anxiously. The King had not been seen all day.

Arl Eamon went in search of Alistair. He found him sitting by himself in a corner of the garden.

"Shouldn't you be by your Queen's side?"

"I cannot do anything to help her." He had his head in his hands.

"It would not hurt you to show some concern."

"I doubt she will welcome it. After all, _I_ did this to her. She probably hates me right now."

"Your heart is as cold as that stone you sit on. I refuse to argue with you," Eamon said, storming off.

It was late evening when the midwife finally emerged from the bedchamber. Her hands were bloodstained. She looked exhausted.

"It does not bode well," she said, solemnly. "The child lies wrongly."

"You must do something," Eamon implored.

She shook her head. "There is little to be done. The child cannot be born. It is only a matter of time before they both die. Such things happen all too often, sadly."

"No, it cannot be allowed. The King will be devastated," he said, his face stricken with despair. He added softly, his voice quivering, "Do what you must to save the child, if you cannot save her."

The midwife nodded in understanding. "We will try our best. But I promise nothing." She disappeared back into the room.

Alistair appeared from behind him, looking disturbed. He had clearly heard them. "Is it true? That she is dying?"

Eamon swallowed hard. "I would not assume just yet. They are doing everything they can."

"It is all my fault," he buried his face in his hands. "Just like Anora's death."

"You shall not speak of such things right now. There was nothing you could have done to save Anora," Eamon chided.

He softened when he saw how distraught Alistair was. He put his arm around his shoulders. "But I am glad you decided to come back. You should...say something to Amelie, comfort her...just in case, you know."

It was a grisly sight. Alistair retched from the stench of blood in the room. Amelie was breathing heavily, her eyes closed, her large pregnant belly rising and falling with every breath. She looked deathly pale. She lay on her back, bare at the waist, with her legs spread open and knees drawn up, a pile of bloodied towels between them. There was blood on the floor and all around her where she lay. The midwife and her assistant stood over the labouring girl, with no more than oil lamps to light the dark chamber. They paid no attention to him.

Alistair knelt by her side and stroked her brow. Her skin was cold and damp with sweat.

"Amelie?" he said softly. She opened her eyes, regarding him briefly. Immediately her face contorted in pain. Alistair squeezed her hand. He could not think of anything to say.

The midwife looked flustered. "I will try again, but this is the last. If it fails, we must resort to do the other. At least the babe may yet live."

A sharp, pristine knife lay by the bed. Alistair's stomach churned at the thought.

An assistant held Amelie down as the midwife shoved a dirty hand into the girl, between her legs. Amelie gasped, gripping Alistair's hand hard. The midwife pushed and pulled forcefully, attempting to turn the unborn child, causing the girl to cry in agony as she tearfully begged her to stop. Alistair looked away, horrified. Amelie struggled against them but her efforts were weak. Taking no heed of her cries, the midwife carried on, whilst the assistant continued to pin her down, forcing her legs to stay open. She screamed and pleaded some more, writhing with the excruciating pain.

Alistair could bear it no longer. He fled from the chamber as fast as he could, into the corridors. He retched and vomited against a wall. Tears streamed down his face. _They were right, she cannot possibly live through this._ He was overwhelmed with guilt. And the thought of her being cut open to save the child was too much for him to bear. _No, I will not allow it. If she fails to birth the child, so be it. I will not let them slaughter her like an animal. She has suffered more than enough already. And I do not need a child with a dead mother._

He raced back into the chamber, ready to put an end to their horrific butchery. Amelie's screams became more fervent, then turned into a pained whimper. He stood at the doorway with his heart pounding, watching as the midwife finally pulled the small, bloodied babe from between its mother's legs. Alistair dropped to his knees.

The babe wailed loudly as Amelie lay slumped on the bed, badly torn and throbbing, but she wept only with relief.

* * *

Solona awoke to find herself amongst unfamiliar surroundings. Her throat was parched. Her head pounded. The light was too bright. But the sheets on the bed felt soft and silky against her skin and there was a smell of flowers in the air. _Where am I?_

"Finally, you have roused. You have been out for days," Zevran said, sounding pleased. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Welcome to the city of Antiva."

"What happened? I saw you drown," Solona said, sitting up. She rubbed her temples.

"And I nearly did. But I kept my head above water. Then I saw you fall with the ship," he said. "I thought to myself, well it would be a shame if you died, for I would never get to see that beautiful face of yours again."

"How very thoughtful of you. Thank you for saving me," Solona replied. "And I am sorry that you lost your ship."

"It is not a big loss and all my men survived, apart from Freckles, sadly."

Solona looked down and saw that she was wearing nothing but a pair of intricately laced undergarments.

"Zevran, _what_ am I wearing?" she asked, glaring at him.

"I believe they are feminine undergarments. Most sensual I must admit."

"How did I _get_ into them?"

"Well, first I had to remove your own lacklustre clothing. They made very good kindling for the fire, by the way," he said. "Of course, we cannot have you running around Antiva naked, so I found this gorgeous set of lacy garments that I knew would fit you perfectly. I put your right leg through..."

"I think I've heard enough," she motioned for him to stop. "And I need a drink right now." She could not bear to imagine what liberties he might have taken with her unclothed body whilst she lay unconscious in his bed.

Zevran poured her a cup of warm wine. His expression suddenly turned serious. "Solona, forgive me for prying. But I couldn't help noticing that you are...well, this is most awkward, but I shall say it anyway. Your breasts, while still ever so sumptuous, have been...overflowing, quite literally. It occurred to me that you are nursing. That and the marks on your belly, suggest to me that you have recently borne a child."

Solona looked at him, appalled and dismayed at the same time. "Oh Zevran, it is truly a convoluted affair," she sighed. It was frustratingly impossible to keep a secret from any of her meddling but well-meaning companions.

"I am hurt that you did not see fit to inform me that you had become a mother," he sulked. "And where is this child? I know that you are unmarried but I see no reason for you to feel such shame that you should hide it."

"It is not through shame, but necessity. Tis true, I birthed a babe, a boy, not that many moons ago," she said, draining her wine quickly. Zevran refilled her cup.

"Who is the father? Is it Alistair?" he asked with furrowed brows. He could not help but feel annoyed that she had allowed another man to carelessly impregnate her, whilst she had only ever spurned his advances.

Solona nodded silently.

"Obviously there is much that is troubling you," Hundreds of questions raced through his mind, but he simply added, "As a loyal friend, I am more than willing to assist you in whatever it is your predicament may be."

His voice was sincere, and Solona knew in her heart that she could trust him. "Then I shall be very grateful for your help. But promise me that you will keep what I am about to tell you, to yourself," she warned, downing the rest of her drink. "And I shall need more wine."

* * *

No matter how hard Alistair tried, he could not bring himself to love his newborn son. The babe looked very much like him, beautiful with fair hair and hazel green eyes. Yet, he remained naught but a painful reminder of his own child with Solona, the one no one knew about. Cradling the child in his arms, he wanted nothing more than to experience the same intense and unconditional love that he had felt when he held Lucas for the first time. But it never came. _I am sorry, Canaan, that you are not Solona's child._

The babe spent most of his time with a nursemaid, whilst his mother remained confined to her chambers, yet to recover from the traumatic birth. Alistair kept away as much as possible, hardly sleeping, eating little, and forbidding anyone but the Arl to see him. Reams of letters and official documents sat unread on his desk. _But it does not matter now_, he knew, _for my future holds nothing._

"I have drawn up the concessionary plans. As soon as you are ready, I will send for Commander Howe to meet with us," the Arl spoke, breaking Alistair's train of thought. His voice was strained.

"It is pointless, Eamon. The Wardens have said they will not reach a compromise," Alistair replied, staring out the window.

"We must at least try. You cannot just give up on this," the Arl asserted.

"No, I will not fight them, nor can I be bothered to deal with Orlais and the Chantry anymore. I will relinquish the throne and my troops to the Order and end this revolt once and for all. That is my final decision." The King was adamant.

"I am not asking you to fight anyone. Just try to reach a peaceful agreement."

"I will do no grovelling!" Alistair said angrily, his face flushed. "This is the end of the Therein dynasty. Accept it."

"It was my fault for not giving you the guidance you needed," Eamon replied sorrowfully.

Arl Eamon had feared that this day would come, but did not expect it to be so soon. He knew of the threats from Orlais and the Grand Cathedral, but had not foreseen being betrayed by the Order of the Grey. The Grey Wardens had offered a peaceful resolution of the Ferelden monarchy, held proudly by the Therein bloodline for countless of generations. If Alistair and his Queen were to step down willingly as rulers of Ferelden, no blood will be shed, and the Grey Wardens would commence military rule over Ferelden. It was a coup.

_This is the end of the Therein dynasty._ Those words echoed in Eamon's head, as he gathered his officials for an unscheduled meeting in the throne room to announce the sad news.


	24. Chapter 24

24. Showdown

The mood was solemn as the Field Marshall stoically lowered the King's banner from its place outside the palace. It was a sad day for all. Arl Eamon had escorted the Queen and the child to Redcliffe castle, having left in the early hours of the morning. The King had planned to follow shortly, along with his officials. The guards and troops remained in the palace grounds, no longer bearing the Therein heraldry.

Alistair sat by himself in his empty study. He unsheathed his longsword, laying it in front of him. The blade was dragonbone, sturdy and deadly. The hilt bore the family emblem, a drake, crafted in gold and silver, with a flawless red ruby set in the pommel. It was King Maric's sword, given to him by his father, handed down from_ his_ father's father. _My father would be so ashamed of me. I have failed his people._

Alistair ran a finger along the sharp edge of the blade. A drop of blood dripped onto his palm. He thought about Lucas. He imagined what his son would look like now, with those beautiful eyes like his mother's, and wondered how much he had grown since. His heart ached for his love Solona, but the memory of her tenderly kissing Nathaniel returned, wrenching him in the gut. The blade felt cold against his neck. _I could end it right now and save myself the humiliation._

There were voices outside the palace, a small commotion. _The Wardens have arrived, _Alistair knew.

The Warden-Commander reared his horse and dismounted at the palace gates. He briskly acknowledged the ground guards. The atmosphere was tense and brittle, although weapons remained firmly sheathed. Twenty Wardens had ridden in on horseback. They marched through the grounds and into the empty palace halls.

The lone figure sat in silence at his desk, unmoving. Commander Howe stood facing him from across the room. He was mildly surprised and rather annoyed that the King had not left earlier with his entourage of officials.

Alistair had said nothing. He stared at Nathaniel, his longsword in his hand.

"If you have something to say, do so now. I have little patience for games," Nathaniel said sharply.

"So you have come to claim my throne." Alistair growled. "Was it not enough that you stole Solona and my child from me?" His face was dark and his eyes glared intensely at the Commander.

"This has nothing to do with them," Nathaniel replied, scowling.

"Do not deny it! You were envious of me, for I had everything, while you had nothing but your traitorous father's name. And you feared that she would leave you, returning to me. This was your cowardly way of dealing with it."

"I do not envy nor fear you. I only pity you," Nathaniel scoffed. "Solona does not love you, she loves me. You have done nothing for her in all of this time. It was I who saved her from the Demon, while you dined merrily in your palace. It was I who tended to her when she birthed your child, while you fondled your maids. And the child that_ you_ sired will call me father."

"Say no more! I should have killed you when I had the chance," Alistair said menacingly as he rose from his chair. His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his sword.

"Then let us continue what we did not finish." Nathaniel unsheathed his daggers.

The men sized each other up as they slowly paced the room. The air was as still as death and just as silent, if not for the heavy breathing of the two foes. Alistair attacked first, with a powerful strike from his sword, which Nathaniel deftly parried.

Both men were as adept as each other with their respective weaponry. Alistair, being the stronger of the two, could easily halve a man with a single blow from his longsword. Nathaniel had quicker reflexes and an excellent aim, proving time and again how he could fell a man with a stab of his dagger, with barely a moment's notice. Loud clashes of blade against blade rang through the corridors of the palace as the men fought viciously. Pride, more than anything else, was at stake here.

"You do not see how truly selfish you are," Nathaniel grunted, sweat pouring from his brow. "You thought only of yourself, caring little for others. Solona was not spared."

"That is a lie. You know nothing! I gave in to her every whim," Alistair replied angrily, thrusting his blade at the Commander's torso.

Nathaniel easily evaded the blow. "How do you think she felt when you became so obviously infatuated with another woman? You humiliated her by acting like a dog in heat around Anora."

"She was my wife!" Alistair barked. Nathaniel's words had stung him. It was painful because it was true. He had disregarded Solona's feelings in lieu of his own. He paused to catch his breath, his sword shaking in his hand.

Nathaniel continued scathingly, "You were so blind to everything, you did not even notice that she was with child when she left you. You let her risk her life fighting Darkspawn in her condition. And when she begged for your aid, you refused to spare your men."

The King's face was flushed with anger. "If she had a death wish, it was only to spite me. I take no blame for that," he spat. "I did not have men to spare, because I wanted to help her rebuild the Order. _Your_ Order. It was I who made it strong again, by fighting in the valleys. How you ungrateful Wardens have so easily forgotten."

"If you hadn't driven Ferelden into the ground, I wouldn't have had to come for your pitiful crown. You are a weak and feckless king," Nathaniel belittled him. He lunged quickly at Alistair. His blade pierced the King's side, drawing blood onto the floor and leaving a deep, gaping hole in Alistair's flank.

Alistair winced, but did not falter. He struck another powerful blow at Nathaniel, this time slicing through the rogue's armor and into his flesh. Nathaniel recoiled in pain, stumbling backwards as fresh blood spewed from the large gash in his shoulder.

Alistair saw his chance. He swung his longsword in a clean arc, sending Nathaniel's daggers flying across the floor. The rogue cursed as he found himself backed into a wall.

"Scared, are you? Let's see you beg for your life!" Alistair mocked him. With brute force, he shoved Nathaniel hard against the stone cladding, holding his blade precariously at the rogue's neck.

Nathaniel swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "So kill me, for I shall not beg. Everyone knows you are a ruthless murderer."

"I will gladly do so, traitor!" Alistair pulled back his blade as he levered himself against the rogue's body, ready to thrust its sharp end into his enemy's throat. Nathaniel reached for the small flask at his belt.

Alistair saw it coming but failed to dodge in time, for Nathaniel was just too quick. He felt his face burn as the acid melted right through his skin. His sword fell to the floor. The air began to fill with a pungent and most unpleasant odour.

The King screamed in agony, burying his face in his hands. Blisters burst open where he had touched his skin. Blood seeped from the gaps between his fingers, trickling down his arms. He collapsed in a heap, heaving with pain. Nathaniel stepped over the stricken man and staggered out the door.

* * *

_The Witch stood on the mountain top, a red mist enveloping her. In one hand, she held a chalice filled with oily, dark blood. In the other, she clutched the young child. The fair-haired boy squirmed and protested as she forced the blood into his mouth. His cries stopped abruptly, his innocent blue eyes turning black and hollow. _

Solona was awakened by her own screams. She was sweating profusely, her body shaking as she sat up in bed. Zevran was jolted from his sleep.

"Another nightmare," he said as he took her in his arms to comfort her, embracing her tightly. "It was her, wasn't it?"

Still trembling, Solona looked at her ring. It had not changed colour. "We must stop her before she tries to take Lucas again," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Can you still feel her?"

Morrigan's pull in her blood had weakened for the last few days, for some unknown reason, but now it grew strong again. "She is planning something, I know not what. But I would rather not wait to find out," Solona said, desperation in her voice.

Solona knew that her journey ahead would be perilous. From her dreams, she had a vague sense that she must head northwest, into the ancient mountains that overlooked the old Imperium. What lay within the rocky cliffs, was anyone's guess. But Morrigan was there, she was certain of it.

They shared a bed but had not made love, much to Zevran's disappointment. He had tried to kiss her a few times, but she would not allow it. Having her asleep beside him every night, but not being able to touch her intimately, was akin to torture for him. He consoled himself with the fact that she was too upset and worried about the matters at hand. _I will make her smile again, _he promised himself.

The markets of Antiva city brimmed with life and colour. Solona had never seen anything quite like it before. Traders yelled their best prices, whilst customers haggled noisily as they perused the wares. Shoes, gloves, hats and every other piece of attire imaginable were carved in beautiful leather and hung proudly from stalls. Radiant jewellery cut from the very best gemstones were laid out for all to admire. Exotic smells filled the air, a heady mix of sumptuous grilled meats and fragrant perfumes. Antivan women wore delicate robes and had a predilection for small yappy dogs, which they walked on a leash whilst strolling gracefully down the promenades.

Zevran was beaming at her. "Close your eyes and turn around," he instructed. Unquestioning, Solona did as she was told. He placed the necklace around her neck.

"Now open your eyes."

It was the most beautiful and intricate piece of jewellery she had ever seen. Small, finely cut round rubies and teardrop emeralds were set in delicate gold leaves, weaving around a tiny gold hummingbird in the centre.

"Why Zevran, I cannot accept this," she said breathlessly, stunned by his generosity.

"No, Solona. It would please me to see you wear it, although it is hardly a match for your own beauty," he insisted.

She smiled and kissed him on his cheek. "You have been so kind to me."

"I've got better news. I have acquired us a pair of steeds. The strongest and fastest in the whole of Antiva. We will ride at sunrise."

She hugged him. "How can I ever repay you?" Her eyes had regained their sparkle.

"We shall see, once this is over," he grinned. "You know that there is only thing I crave for."

Solona managed a weak smile, regretting that she had ever asked.


	25. Chapter 25

25. Attack on the Lake

Wynne caught the boy before he could crawl out the door. He was getting to be quite a handful, and the old mage realised that she was not as spritely as she once was. She could not help but smile as he giggled adorably in her arms. She planted a kiss on his forehead. He was a happy child and had grown more beautiful with each passing day, very much resembling Solona now and less of Alistair. He still cried for his mother on occasion, although not as often as he used to.

As for now, he was contented to play quietly by himself, giving Wynne a moment to contemplate the situation with the girl. She had not heard from Solona since that fateful day. She hoped in her heart that she was safe somewhere. No amount of persuasion or threat on her and Irving's part, had changed the Templars' minds. They were hell-bent on capturing and executing her in atonement for Greagoir's death. In their eyes, she was a deadly maleficar and what she had done was an unforgivable crime, end of story. Knight-Commander Davesh, who had replaced Greagoir, was a good many years younger than his predecessor. But he was as brute and as ruthless as Greagoir, if not worse. _My poor girl,_ Wynne sighed_. I pray that you will be reunited with your son again, soon._

Wynne had left the child with his nursemaid so she could get some much needed rest. She had been working on some new incantations, which were mainly defensive wards and anti-magic spells just in case the Witch had dared return. She must have slept only a few hours before being awakened by the noise of footsteps running in the corridors.

"Darkspawn, by the Tower!" the young apprentice said fearfully as he fled past her.

Wynne composed herself and hurried after him. Before reaching the stairwell, she made a quick detour to check on Lucas. He was sleeping soundly in his crib.

"Stay here, do not leave this room, and never take your eyes off him," she motioned to the nursemaid. The girl nodded, frightened. "And that includes you," she turned to the young Templar guarding the room.

The mage was puzzled. Darkspawn had not been seen around Lake Calenhad ever since the Blight ended. _Probably just stragglers,_ she thought. _It would not be difficult to take them out._ How they had managed to cross the lake, she had no idea.

Wynne was taken aback by the carnage that greeted her at the entrance into the Tower. Dismembered bodies of Templars littered the courtyard. Mangled weapons and shields torn from the hands of its owners were strewn about, as if a terrible blizzard had just struck. There was blood everywhere. A few dead Darkspawn lay on the ground, their foul blood pooling between the gravel.

"To the door!" Davesh hollered. His platemail was bloodied and he bore a deep gash on his cheek.

Around eight Templars held the heavy wooden gates to the Tower shut as the Darkspawn outside fought to gain entry. First Enchanter Irving was directing a group of senior magi to attack from the level above. A few apprentices cowered behind them.

"The door cannot hold!" Wynne shouted a warning as the hinges creaked and strained with the battering. Irving and the magi stood their ground, poised to attack.

It did not take long before the hinges finally gave way and the gates burst open. The Templars furiously held the creatures at bay whilst the magi conjured their offensive spells. Wave after wave of powerful energy bolts and deadly firestorms failed to eliminate all but a small handful of the creatures. They seemed to be at least partially resistant to arcane effects.

_These are no regular Darkspawn!_ Wynne thought to herself, alarmed. The vile things retaliated with their own spells, sending chunks of earth and rocks flying towards the magi. The Templars had started to falter, beaten down by the savagery of the Darkspawn's attacks. Wynne evoked a strong barrier, shielding them for a while whilst the group hastily retreated back into the Tower.

_What are they?_ The old mage continued to wonder. These creatures were unlike any Darkspawn she had ever seen, and she had seen her fair share of them.

As soon as the Templars had regrouped, ready for a flank-side attack, something strange happened. The vile creatures, so ferocious just a moment ago, began to disengage and draw back towards the lake, disappearing from sight as quickly as they had appeared. It was truly perplexing.

"Hold back!" Davesh yelled at his men as they stared in amazement.

"They are retreating!" Irving proclaimed the obvious. "But why?"

_Most strange indeed. Unless it was...of course! Why had I not seen it earlier? It was a diversion! _The thought suddenly occurred to her as a sinking feeling rose in her gut. Wynne raced up the tower, desperate to reach the child. _Please, let him be safe._

The old mage stopped short at the doorway, hand over her mouth. Her blood ran cold. The young Templar lay lifeless in a pool of blood, his limbs torn from his body, face locked in terror, telling of his agony at the moment of his death. The nursemaid was slumped over the bed, very much dead, open wounds carved by large talons crisscrossed her back, her blood drenching the sheets. The window was wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze; the sound of fluttering in the distance, getting further away. The crib where the child slept was empty.

Lucas was gone.

* * *

Solona and Zevran rode like the wind. The magnificent beasts carried them easily on their backs, their powerful legs propelling them quickly through the great plains of the Drylands. Vast, open space spanned for hundreds of miles ahead of them. Solona put her troubles behind her as she finally felt free again, even if it was only for a short while. Memories of her travels during the Blight came flooding back, when she would journey for weeks on end with her companions, who were like family to her. She thought of Alistair and how they used to make love so passionately under the stars. It was during one of those nights that their child was conceived. _I wish it had not ended the way it did._

"Look, above us!" Zevran pointed towards the sky. A lone, silvery wyvern flew gracefully overhead, slowly disappearing into the clouds.

Solona shivered. Dragon-kin commonly inhabited the mountains, although it was more usual to see them hunt in packs. She felt an inexplicable sense of dread as ominous, dark clouds gathered above them.

It started to hail. Rocks of ice, some as large as river pebbles, rained down painfully. Zevran steered them towards the hills for shelter. Solona's horse, spooked by the hailstones, reared suddenly onto its hind legs, throwing her to the ground like a rag doll. Zevran jumped from his steed.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly, taking her arm. She had landed badly.

"I...I think I'm fine," she replied, dazed. Her head hurt.

"Solona, your ring!" Zevran pointed to her hand, alarmed. Wynne's onyx ring glowed a faint yellow.

The colour drained from her face. "No, it cannot be!" she said, shaking.

"Wait, Solona!" Zevran chased after her as she raced back to her horse.

"We must go to the Tower," she said adamantly. "I should never have left the lake."Not knowing exactly what harm had befallen her child was excruciating.

"Just think for a moment," he said, trying to reason with her. "You cannot go back there, for the Templars will kill you. And if Morrigan has taken your child, and it is very likely that she _has_, then we must find her without delay. We will do whatever it takes to get Lucas back." Her beautiful eyes were so sad that it pained him to look into them.

Solona choked back her tears as he drew her towards him in a comforting embrace. She knew that the Antivan was right. He was particularly instinctive, and almost always correct in his assumptions. It would be futile to return to the Circle Tower. And there would be little the magi could do to help them now. She knew that the Witch would one day return for Lucas. Without her there, the child was easy pickings.

"But what if we are too late?" she lamented tearfully. "I dare not think of what may have already happened to him."

"We do not know that. We must press on before further harm befalls him."

The steeds galloped through the hailstorm as the Hundred Pillars loomed ahead.

* * *

To Nathaniel, the King was as good as dead. He did not know, nor cared about, what happened to Alistair after he had left the palace. What was done, _was done_. To the people of Ferelden, he was a hero and the King was a tyrant. _Oh, how ironic it is that the King had been their saviour not so long ago_. But men were such fickle and ungrateful creatures with short memory spans.

A messenger had brought urgent word from the Tower. This did not bode well. With trembling hands, Nathaniel opened the letter. It was from Wynne. He swallowed hard as he read the first few lines, his heart sinking with each paragraph. His worst fears had come true. He did not know which made him feel worse; the fact that Lucas had been kidnapped or that he had delayed pursuing the vicious Darkspawn to conduct the coup, only for them to take his son. His inaction had cost him dearly.

There were no leads from the Tower. The magi were as bewildered by the creatures as he was. They described strong and intelligent elven-like emissaries, corrupted by the Darkspawn taint. _Were they drawn to the child? _Nathaniel wondered. _They will soon corrupt him, like they did Urthemiel before._

His instincts told him that he must leave for the ruin city of Arlathan immediately. _I must find my son._

Nathaniel had gathered fifty of his best men to ride with him. It would be a long journey, but they would sail across the Waking Sea and ride north through the Free Marches, through the mountains and into the old Imperium where the remnants of Arlathan lay. His mind raced with questions. Solona would be looking for Lucas too, he knew. This also meant that her life was probably in danger. He was determined to find them.

* * *

The mountain pass had narrowed and a night fog had begun to set, making it difficult to ride. The steeds were exhausted, and so were they. A hollow enclave provided much needed shelter for the night. Zevran lit a warm fire whilst Solona sat pensively by herself. She had said little, her face stricken with worry. A familiar sickness had risen in her gut, which she put down to nerves. Her blood hummed in her veins, reeking more of the evil now. _Morrigan was near._ Wynne's ring continued to glow a faint yellow.

Strong winds battered the entrance to the enclosure. Zevran shivered as he struggled to keep the fire going.

"Blasted wind!" he cursed. "It never gets cold in Antiva. That is why I do not wear layers."

Solona sighed and conjured a fireball from her hands, igniting the kindling into a large bonfire. The flames crackled as it lit up their faces, much to Zevran's delight. The pair huddled together for warmth. She felt his hand resting on her breast, but was too tired to object.

A scratching sound emanated from somewhere behind them, followed by loud fluttering of wings. Solona and Zevran turned to look at each other, a feeling of dread crossing their faces.

_Dragonlings!_ The sudden realisation occurred to them at the very same time.

Zevran was on his feet immediately. He scanned the darkness around them. Nothing at first, then a barbed tail knocked him over. The dragonling screeched. A strong blast of cold from Solona froze the creature solid to the ground. Nathaniel grabbed a heavy rock, smashing it down on the small dragon, causing it to shatter. Their relief was short-lived. Deafening screeches and fluttering of wings surrounded them. Ten, maybe twenty dragonlings waited to feast on their prey.

"Son of a..." Zevran muttered under his breath.

The two friends backed nervously into the enclosure as the creatures slowly closed in on them. Zevran spotted a narrow crevice, as wide as a man's body, and yanked Solona's arm. They scrambled through the gap as the dragonlings scuppered towards them like a pack of hungry hounds, claws and beaks snapping at their clothes.

"I could have taken them out quite easily really," the Antivan said, as soon as they were safe again.

"I'm not sure about that. But I can say with certainty that your insolence is unmatched," Solona replied unhesitatingly.

They had emerged into a large cavern. It must be at least forty feet high and about as large as a manor. The grey slate was punctuated in places by the most beautiful crystals growing like bunches of colourful trees from the rocks. Large stalactites hung menacingly from the ceiling. The drip drop of spring water echoed throughout the still air.

"There must be a way out through one of these," the elf said as he pointed towards a tunnel. There were many of them in fact, some with entrances so small one would need to crawl on their belly to get through.

"No, we must go deeper." Solona did not know why she said it, only that her senses had compelled her to head in that direction.

They clambered through a narrow and damp burrow, one passageway leading into another as the winding tunnels brought them deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Hundred Pillars. It had begun to get hotter, they noted. Further afield, the iron-rich rocks glowed a sinister red colour. Caverns both large and small adjoined the passageways, branching further off into the unknown.

It was difficult to keep track of time down there. There was no day or night, just darkness. They slept whenever they could and ate a little of what they brought with them. They encountered numerous hostile stalkers and a variety of overgrown carapaced insects which made for easy kill and some foul-tasting fodder. Solona had grown visibly weary and the sickness persisted, but undeterred, she pressed on.

"May I ask you a question?" Zevran asked in _that_ voice. They sat around a campfire, readying themselves for another night's rest after spending what seemed like eternity underground.

"Do I have a choice?" Solona sighed. She knew he meant to pry, as he had so often done with her lately.

"I am asking only as a concerned friend. Well, how shall I put this?" he said hesitatingly. "When was your last...visit from the crimson curse?"

"Whatever in this world do you mean?"

"You _know_ what I mean. Well, you_ have_ been sick and tired a lot lately," he tried to reason.

"I'll have you know that your euphemisms are cringe-worthy and _that_ is a completely inappropriate question to ask, friend or no friend," Solona replied in a huff. "And I should know for myself if I were with child again, so you needn't feel the need to tell me."

"Your crankiness serves only to further my suspicions."

"Well, I am most certainly not, and you are impossible. We are no longer having this conversation." She was blushing, feeling both embarrassed and offended.

"Fine, deny it," he shrugged. "You know I am always right."

"_Often_, not always," she corrected him.


	26. Chapter 26

26. What Lies Beneath

Just as Solona and Zevran felt that they may be forever lost in the infinite maze of underground caverns, the passageways finally opened up into an immense and breathtaking gorge. Hot, glowering lava streamed through the ore-rich crevices, forming deep pools and rapidly flowing rivers of molten rock which plunged into a deep abyss far below. A natural bridge took them across the gorge and onto a precipice, where the remnants of a large stone structure stood.

"What do you think it was?" the Antivan asked, eyeing the tall, broken pillars and partially desecrated statues of unrecognisable divinities. Letterings were carved into the stone in a language neither could decipher.

"A temple, surely," Solona concluded, running the back of her hand against the rough stone wall. Its surface felt comfortingly cool. "It looks ancient, possibly Tevinter, or older yet."

Solona was suddenly overcome by a feeling of intense trepidation. Zevran caught her as her legs gave way. Her body shuddered in his arms and her face went pale.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed by the unexpected change in her.

"Morrigan...she is here!" Solona said fearfully, her senses overwhelmed by the evil presence of the Witch. Her ring glowed a deeper yellow.

Zevran could see no one around them. "Are you sure? There is nothing but..." He was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

A lone wyvern swooped down on the pair as the elf instinctively shielded Solona with his body. He had his longbow in his hands, taking aim as the creature took flight again. An arrow sailed through the air, impaling itself in its wing. The wyvern dived down once more and struck him in the arm, his longbow flying into the abyss below them. It had a pair of unmistakeably golden-yellow eyes.

Solona grappled hastily with her blade, drawing blood from her hand. She focussed hard on her powers. The wyvern squirmed as its life was slowly sucked out of its body. Unfortunately the mage could only hold the spell for a short while and soon the creature broke free from it. The wyvern was not significantly wounded, but it had slowed a little. Solona saw it land on a rocky ledge high above them.

"_That_ was her," Solona said, turning to Zevran.

* * *

The Commander had come this far on his hunches alone. He had no idea what he had expected to find here. But he was undeterred. It helped that the Wardens had journeyed without incident so far. Transversing the Free Marches proved easier and quicker than expected, since the Commander was familiar with the terrain. The men gazed into the distance from where they stood on the mountain path.

"_This_ is Arlathan?" the second-in-command asked, not expecting a definite answer. Ahead lay thousands of square miles of weathered-down stone formations, broken and disjointed, covered by bramble and all manner of undergrowth. A pillar or two which still stood in place provided the only clue that a great city once existed in the plains below.

"I guess so," Nathaniel shrugged. "We should start looking before nightfall."

Nothing was alive. Not anymore, that is. Bones littered the ground between the fallen stones. Nathaniel and the men scoured the area for anything that could lead them to the Darkspawn's whereabouts. Hours passed, but still nothing. As the men prepared to set up camp for the night, a shouting was heard from afar, and soon a young Warden scout came running up to Nathaniel.

"Commander! A crypt...a crevasse in the ground...," he panted breathlessly.

"A crypt you say? And what about remains?" Nathaniel asked. _This could be it. _

The scout nodded. "Too many to count."

It was true. The men had made the morbid discovery purely by chance. A wild dog had perturbed the party who subsequently stalked it to its den. What they found was a group of pups nestling comfortably at the entrance to a vast, ancient underground crypt, buried deep under the ruins. It held the dusty remains of hundreds of thousands of elves. Not any ordinary elf, but tall, long-limbed ones. Perfectly persevered in the dry, arid air.

_Mahrai,_ Nathaniel knew. _So it was not just a lore after all._ Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. _They must have all been killed at once, then hastily buried here._ Many of the tombs had been desecrated recently, hundreds at least. _Occult magic must have been involved, to awaken the creatures, turning them into the undead abominations tainted with Darkspawn essence._ A whole horde of them would bring unimaginable horrors to Thedas, if it was actually possible to awaken so many at once.

The large crevasse in the floor of the crypt could only lead into the network of mountainous caverns beneath them. No one dared hazard a guess as to what lay beyond it. It was a blind risk, but one that Nathaniel was only too willing to take. One by one, the men made their way through the gap in the earth and into the dark, foreboding underworld.

* * *

The elf watched agog as the wyvern reverted to human form. Morrigan flinched, pulling the arrow from her arm.

"I didn't know she could turn into Dragon-kin," Zevran found time to muse. "She certainly has more secrets than the average female. I'm not sure I could deal with that." He clutched his bleeding arm to his side.

"I applaud your stubborn, albeit foolish perseverance. But alas, you are too late," the Witch mocked them from above. "Here lies your son." She picked up the sleeping child. It was most definitely Lucas. He looked unharmed at least.

Solona gasped. "How dare you!" she seethed. Her ring was a deep amber now.

"Finally, the Archdemon will live again in Urthemiel, and I can awaken my children." The Witch planted a kiss on the child's cheek, causing him to stir.

"You will corrupt him with taint!" Solona cried in dismay. Visions of her dream came back to her. _I gave you life, my son, but what will it avail to? You will be a Demon if I cannot help you._

"Well, did you think that I wanted a child merely to dote on? To look after me when I'm old and infirm?" Morrigan said tauntingly. "My sleeping horde awaits their God. Then only, can they be fully revived. He will lead them in due time, and I will soon have the most powerful Darkspawn army imaginable. Try as you might, you cannot stop me now." The Witch backed away from them, adding cruelly, "I will allow you this last pleasure. Enjoy your prison while you watch."

Solona tried to shout but no voice came. She could feel nothing, not her legs, arms nor body, yet she was still awake and aware of everything around her. Zevran had the same look of fear in his eyes. They both stood rooted to the ground, arms outstretched, unmoving and unfeeling. The Witch had them in a powerful paralyzing hex.

Morrigan took the brimming chalice in one hand as she held the child tightly in the crook of her arm. She pressed it to his lips. The boy whimpered and pulled away.

If there was one thing that would drive a mother to commit an act of sheer desperation, it was that of seeing her own child being harmed. Solona's eyes locked on to Zevran's. _I am sorry, but I must do this for my son,_ she voiced silently to him as she drew the blood from his arm wound into her own veins. The elf's eyes widened with disbelief, then glazed over, life draining from his body and into Solona's. He collapsed in a heap on the floor, cold and white as a sheet.

Powered by the rush of fresh blood, Solona broke free of the binding hex. A bolt of fire shot forth from her hands, singeing the Witches' fingers as she took the cup of Darkspawn blood to the child's mouth again. The chalice fell, spilling its contents onto the floor. Morrigan was livid.

"No matter, there is more where that came from," she said, putting the child down. Silvery scales appeared on her skin, her neck elongated grostequely and her arms spouted into wings. The wyvern took off from its perch, circling the mage below.

"Begone with your evil!" Solona said angrily, sending shards of deadly ice at the flying beast, clipping its wings and grounding it. The creature screeched and clawed at her. Solona fell and landed on her back. The wyvern was heavy on top of her. Sharp talons dug painfully into her chest. She winced with every intake of breath. The beast hissed at her neck as she held it back, but her arms were quickly faltering. The precipice on which they lay shuddered precariously, as if about to break off into the abyss below.

A clamouring rose around them. The droning noise of a hundred undead Darkspawn soon became deafening. From the corner of her eye, Solona made out the pack approaching. The ground beneath her shook some more. _I will die, but I will take the Witch with me._ She prepared to evoke an earthquake.

* * *

The path led them straight into the mighty gorge. Nathaniel looked down and trembled. Far below, where the hot lava rose in plumes, a mass of dark bodies crawled and scampered their way through the glowering rivers. _The undead Darkspawn! This is where they congregate, after spawning from the crypts. But who leads them?_

A shrill scream came from somewhere below. He saw a strange sight. A wyvern was grounded and a crumpled body lay near it. From where he stood, he could not make out much else.

Nathaniel descended a few steps. The rocks beneath his feet suddenly gave way. It seemed as if the whole cavern had started to shake. He slid down the crumbling wall, bracing his elbows to slow himself down and painfully skinning them through his chainmail.

A pool of steaming molten rock greeted him at the base of the slope. He leapt forcefully out of the way before the hot fumes engulfed him.

"Draw your weapons!" he hollered at his men as they too, skidded quickly onto solid ground. The group gathered in formation, facing the charging Darkspawn, with the abyss just behind them. Beyond that, on a shaking precipice, the wyvern struggled with a woman. Nathaniel looked again, blinking. _Do my eyes deceive me? I cannot believe it. It was her._

"Solona!" he shouted, hoarse. But she did not hear him.

He raced towards her, stumbling over the other Wardens who had unsheathed their swords in anticipation. The earth beneath his feet shook violently as he clambered across the narrow bridge. Rocks flew off from the precipice where Solona lay, gripped by the Wyvern's talons. It had started to break away.

He reached for her, pulling every ligament and stretching his body as far as he could, but she was firmly out of his grasp. His eyes caught hers as the ground beneath her sank. There was no horror or pain, only calmness in her face. Nathaniel looked on helplessly as Solona and the wyvern hurtled headlong into oblivion. In an instant, she was gone.

* * *

Powerful as the undead elven Darkspawn were, they were no match for the skills of the Wardens, who came prepared with salves and balms to confer themselves added protection. Blood, flesh and guts splattered the ground in the ensuing struggle. Mangled bodies with their headless stumps were flung about mercilessly, spewing dark, blackish blood about the air. The creature's arcane spells occasionally took a Warden down, but this did not deter the fighters, who continued valiantly and unabated.

As the battle raged on behind him, Nathaniel lay in stunned silence, staring down the abyss. There was only darkness. He did not shed tears, nor mourned at her passing. He was simply numb. _How can I grieve when I feel nothing? _He heard a child's cry from above. He looked up, recognising the fair-haired boy on the ledge. Lucas was unhurt, so it seemed, but inconsolable. Nathaniel took him in his arms and held him tightly. _At least he lives._

Only a handful of Darkspawn still stood, and very quickly they perished too. The men started to pick at the carcasses, searching for their fallen brethren so that they could lay them to rest. Nathaniel touched the body beside him. It was that of an elf. His skin was pale and cold. The elf groaned.

The injured were eventually carried out. Those too gravely wounded were mercifully killed. Thankfully, there were not many that were in a bad way. The bright light blinded Nathaniel for a moment as he knelt on the ground, the fresh air feeling cool against his face. He laid the child on the warm grass. The boy looked at him with _her_ eyes and smiled _her_ smile. Without warning, Nathaniel found himself weeping uncontrollably.


	27. Chapter 27

27. Closure

Rumour had it that King Therein had fled Ferelden. Others say that he had been slain. Some even went so far as to suggest that he was being imprisoned in his own palace dungeons. But whatever it was that happened to the limp monarch, order had finally been restored to the realm. The Darkspawn horde had been quelled at the roots. Morrigan, with all her diabolical intentions, was as good as dead. The Chantry had returned to Ferelden with renewed vigour. Orlesian trade routes had reopened. Farmers resumed work on their lands, shops and guilds restocked their produce and the people carried on with their lives.

At first glance, things seemed to have returned to normalcy. And it certainly did, except that the royal palace in Denerim now displayed the Grey Warden's griffon banner. As Commander of the Grey, Nathaniel Howe was officially pronounced ruler of Ferelden. He had forsaken his father's disgraceful legacy and created a new one of his own.

It was time to leave the Tower again, where Lucas was to remain with his guardians. Nathaniel watched proudly as the boy took his first unsteady steps.

"He is so very much like her," Wynne rued.

Nathaniel could not bring himself to speak of Solona. He just nodded. "I must go, but I shall return before the spring," he said, getting up to leave. "There are matters that need urgent tending to."

In truth, he had coped badly with losing her. Unable to shake the feeling that she may still be alive, he had scoured the region and abroad for reports of maleficar sightings, investigating every single one of them, in the hope of finding her. So far, his efforts had only been in vain.

* * *

It was a curious thing, to feel dead when one was not quite truly dead. Or for that matter, to feel alive when one was supposed to be dead. It was dreadfully confusing. _I am in pain, so I am alive_, she concluded. Yet, there she lay, bruised and battered on a narrow strip of slate. Her robes had snagged on the jagged edges of the rocks, whilst Morrigan had continued to fall.

_So the Witch is gone,_ she thought with certainty. There had been no sound, but it was too far a distance to tell. Solona painfully extracted herself from the wall. She looked at her ring and knew that her child was safe. _Nathaniel had come for us, against all odds._ The thought of seeing them again gave her strength. Many days passed before she finally caught a glimpse of the sky again.

The healer, a homely sort of woman, diligently tended to her wounds. Few questions were asked of the beautiful yet mysterious girl who staggered, gravely wounded, into farmer Jared's barn. Solona did well to hide her blood markings. But even if the woman had taken note, she did not mention them.

"Be glad that the child is unharmed," the healer said nonchalantly as she prepared a warm poultice for the convalescing mage.

Solona thought that she had misheard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your child. It is early yet, but don't you know that you are carrying?"

The girl was speechless. She nodded nervously and lay her head down again. She turned towards the wall so that the healer would not see her tears. _I am to have another child. How had I not known this? _But strangely, there was no feeling of joy. Only disappointment, and she did not know why.

When she was well again, Solona made a hasty departure.

* * *

Irving saw that Wynne was pensive. He took her hand in his to comfort her.

"I too, have lost a daughter," he said gently.

She managed a half-smile. "I feel for the poor child. He will never know his own mother."

"No, but when he is older, we will tell him of all her brave deeds, and everything that she did to save him and the land. He will have much to remember her by," Irving replied.

"Truer words have never been spoken, Irving," she said as she bid him goodnight.

Wynne went to check on the child before retiring to her own chamber. The door was ajar, which was unusual. But everything else seemed to be in place. The nurse was fast asleep in her chair. Lucas lay in his crib, wide awake and smiling. Wynne lowered her oil lamp.

_What have you got to be so happy about?_ She thought to herself, picking him up for a cuddle. He clutched something in his hand. It was a silver locket. A small songbird was etched on the front. On the back, an inscription read, _'She hid me, as the Moon may hide the night, from its own darkness, until all was bright.'_

Wynne's eyes widened in surprise. The old mage raced excitedly into the corridor, but it was quiet and there was no one about.

* * *

Amelie was grateful to Eamon, for he took great care to make her and her children feel welcomed at Redcliffe. Nonetheless, she had reached the end of her tether. She loved her newborn son with all her heart, but he was a sickly child and would refuse to nurse or sleep, preferring instead to cry himself to exhaustion every night. Because of her background, the staff at the estate treated her with much contempt and jibed behind her back. And since Alistair's disappearance, she had lost the will to do almost anything, not knowing if her husband was dead or alive.

"Eamon, I beg you this. Let me return to my own home. I cannot stay here another day," Amelie pleaded with the Arl.

He could see that she was truly upset. "My Queen, you know that is not possible. If you are worried about Alistair, the search party are doing their best to locate him."

"It is not just that. Even if he is still alive, he clearly does not see reason to come back," she sobbed painfully. "Not for me, nor for his child."

Although he did not say it, he knew that this was at least partially true. _So it has come to this._ He had regretted not sensing the change in Alistair sooner. It had all started when Anora was murdered and Solona had refused to return. His actions ever since had borne the mark of a broken and deranged man.

"And what about Canaan? He is Alistair's heir and a Therein," Eamon said, teary-eyed himself.

"I wish for him to be fostered here, if you would allow it," she said. "I can no longer look after him myself."

The Arl sighed. "Are you truly certain about this?"

Amelie nodded, still weeping. "We never married for love, only for the sake of duty."

"And what would you do?"

"I do not know."

Reluctantly, the Eamon sent his men to escort the Queen away.

* * *

She was unrecognisable in muddied peasant's garments and a shawl that hid half her face. She had come to Vigil's Keep but he was nowhere to be found. Much was different too. She stopped a servant on his way out.

"Pray, tell me where the Commander is," she implored politely.

He stopped, surprised, eyeing her suspiciously. "Either you're not from around here, or you've been living under a rock. You won't find him at the Keep. Commander Howe rules from the palace now."

"What?"

"You heard me, lady. Ain't called a revolt for nothing."

Solona choked. Her mind raced. "Where is the King?"

"Aye, that's the question we've all been asking ourselves. Dead no doubt, if the Commander had his way. I heard it was bloody."

Solona grew weak at the knees as her heart sank. "Th...thank you," she stammered and left as quickly as she could.

_Why, Nathaniel? Why couldn't you just let matters lie? _She sobbed, torn with grief. The thought of Alistair dying by Nathaniel's blade drove her delirious with guilt. _I may have still loved him, but how dare you punish me this way. It was wrong to ever love you._ _Never more,_ she swore.

Epilogue

_The settlers lined up to greet their Commander. In the few years that he had led Ferelden, the lands blossomed again with wealth and prosperity. He waved and shook hands with his countrymen. A young girl, perhaps three or four years old, caught his eye. She approached with a flower. He knelt on one knee and took it gratefully._

"_What is your name?" he asked, curious. She was a strikingly beautiful child, with dark eyes and hair. There was something very compelling about the way she was, but Nathaniel knew not what. _

"_Vivianne," she said shyly, clutching at her mother's hem. _

"_A pretty name, indeed. Thank you for the lovely flower." He kissed her on the forehead. She ran to hide. _

_Nathaniel could not stop thinking about the child, her face staying in his mind for a long while afterwards. She reminded him very much of someone. _

_

* * *

_

_Zevran admired his new ship, an upgrade from his last. Very good, he said to himself, pleased. He especially liked the masthead. It was a perfect replica of himself canoodling with a generously proportioned lass. _

_The shipment of goods was unloaded. The Antivan perused the items. Jewellery, garments, all the usual procurements. His heart skipped a beat when he picked up the necklace. Beautiful rubies and emeralds intertwined with delicate gold leaves, surrounding a hummingbird._

"_Where did you get this?" he asked the trader, dangling the necklace in front of his face._

"_Why, I don't remember exactly. Perhaps a farmer pawned it off," he shrugged._

"_When?" Zevran persisted._

"_A few months ago, methinks."_

_My word! The elf exclaimed. I knew it could not be true, and so here you are. After all this time, you never cease with the surprises, Solona. _


End file.
